


Heart Now Undone

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Body Horror, F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Psychological Torture, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 32,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22415425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The war between Heaven and Hell took its toll. Countless angels and demons died in the course of the carnage, leaving both sides staggering and hurt. Lucifer, tired of the constant fighting, approached Heaven with a deal:The Archangel Michael, Defeater of Satan, The Invincible Prince, and Sword of the Almighty, surrenders herself and becomes his pet in body, mind, and soul. If that happens, then the war is over. Peace will reign, so long as the treaty is upheld. So long as Michael surrenders her freedom to Lucifer, for the rest of time.Revenge is a dish best served cold, after millennia of waiting.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens), Dagon/Michael (Good Omens), Hastur/Ligur/Michael (Good Omens), Ligur/Michael (Good Omens), Michael/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 45





	1. Prologue

Prologue: 

_Cupid’s arrow ill aimed, Hades’ heart he did maim,_

_With a name and without a sound,_

_His heart now undone by a lady so young,_

_He watched her from underground_.

_\--The Rape of Persephone--_

* * *

Heaven. Its stark white walls and tall, foreboding columns were familiar. Safe. The Archangel Michael ran her hand along the wall as she walked, her sword strapped to her side. Other angels hurried around her, gathering chairs and banners. A bitter smile came to her lips. They had to make it perfect, of course. Nothing but the best for the victors.

“Archangel Michael,” a voice to her left said.

Michael turned, meeting Ariel’s golden eyes. Ariel fidgeted and bit her lip. Michael reached out and took Ariel’s hand and squeezed it.

“They’re here, aren’t they?” Michael asked.

“Yes,” Ariel said. “Beelzebub and…” she trailed off and frowned. “You don’t have to. No one would hold it against you if you didn’t.” Ariel took Michael’s other hand in hers and clung to them. “It’s not fair.”

“The war’s over,” Michael said, avoiding Ariel’s earnest gaze. “All we have to do is sign the treaty.”

“But you-” Ariel started.

“I’m fine,” Michael said, cutting her off. “I’m the Invincible Prince, remember?”

She dropped Ariel’s hands and turned away. The pearly gates shone far away. Michael crossed the room to the window and stood before it, her hands clasped behind her. Ariel stood by her side, her face drawn and haggard. Michael felt sympathy; so much had happened, and now everything was falling on Ariel’s shoulders.

“You’ll do well,” Michael said at last. “I couldn’t have picked a better person to lead.”

“Only because the ones actually suited to it can’t,” Ariel said. “Michael, please, we’d fight to the last angel.”

Michael sighed. She unbuckled her sword and held it out towards Ariel. “I can’t have that,” she said as she pushed it into Ariel’s hands. “There’s no need for anyone else to die senselessly.”

“It’s not senseless,” Ariel said, but her fingers closed around the sword. 

Michael just smiled and took a step back. “They’ll be waiting,” she said. “We can’t let them think the hospitality of Heaven is lacking.”

Ariel’s lips twitched and she rubbed her eyes. “I’ll make sure they’re safe,” she whispered. She clutched the sword to her chest. “All three of them. They’ll be waiting for your return by the time you come back.”

Michael’s smile faltered. She looked behind her and clenched her hands. “Keep them busy, just for a little longer, will you?” she asked, glancing back at Ariel. “I’ll just be a moment or two.”

“Take as long as you need,” Ariel said. She strapped the sword around her waist, nodded, and disappeared.

Michael’s smile dropped now that she was alone. Her shoes echoed through the empty halls as she all but ran, her composure abandoned. The white walls and columns, the windows that showed the glory and splendor of her home, Michael ignored them all as she raced through Heaven. At last, she came to a halt outside of the medical bay. She didn’t breathe, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a constricting anxiety in her chest that choked her.

Uriel, Sandalphon, and Gabriel lay on three different beds. If she didn’t know better, Michael would have sworn they were just asleep. Maybe it would be kinder to think they were. Her feet walked her to Uriel’s side and she knelt by it, placing her hand over her sleeping sister’s.

“You’ll be safe,” Michael said. She tried to smile; tears made the room swim. “Ariel will look after you, and Heaven. You’ll be awake in no time, and you’ll come rescue me.”

Michael waited for one of them to open their eyes, look at her, and say, “Michael, you never need rescuing.”

No one did. The monitors in the room beeped a message that only Raphael understood. Wires wrapped around Uriel’s head, Sandalphon’s hands, Gabriel’s chest. Michael lowered her head to Uriel’s hand and, for the first time in her long life, wept. They would be the last tears she would ever shed, she thought to herself fiercely, as they ran down her face and soaked through the sheets on Uriel’s bed.

“I’ll be back,” Michael said as she stood. “Wait for me.”

She wiped her eyes and drank them in. Then, with a click of her fingers, she was gone.

* * *

“I told you,” Ariel said, her voice high and stressed, “Michael will be coming later. You don’t have a monopoly on her time just yet, fly.”

“Prince Fly to you, Ariel,” Beelzebub said as Michael appeared. “Hey, Michael. Took you long enough. Started to think you weren’t going to show.”

Michael ignored them and looked around. There was a crowd of angels in a half circle around one part of the clearing. They were under an erected tent, a table in the middle with three chairs. Beelzebub was in one of them, their feet on the table, and they lifted a finger in greeting. The fly on their head buzzed its wings, compound eyes glittering. Michael turned to Ariel last. They locked eyes and Michael saw the pity and fear on Ariel’s face.

“Thank you, Archangel Ariel,” Michael said. “But you can go to your position now. I’ll call you, should I need you.”

Ariel nodded and melted back into the crowd. Michael ran her eyes over the assorted angels, seeing faces to which she could not put a name. She knew them all once, but years of isolation and war took the memories from her. Some she still knew, but they were fewer than she would have liked. Soon she wouldn’t remember any of them, she imagined. 

“Yo, Michael,” Beelzebub said, snapping their fingers. “You there?”

Michael glanced over at them and curled her lip. “Prince Beelzebub,” she said. “I’m sorry to hold you up, but it appears as if I’m not the one who’s late. Where’s your master?”

Beelzebub looked behind Michael. There was an overwhelming aura of evil in the air, almost a physical presence rather than just a feeling. The other angels drew back as one, their white wings shaking. Whispers ran through the crowd. Michael started to turn her head when hands rested on her shoulders and a voice spoke in her ear.

“Michael, sweetheart, I was growing bored.”

“Lucifer,” Michael said, rolling her shoulders, dislodging his hands. 

The Ruler of Hell, Prince of Darkness, Angel of the Bottomless Pit, and the Morningstar walked around the table and lifted his hands in mock surrender. He slid into the last seat, pulling at his jacket. His form was human, or close enough to human. Michael flicked her eyes over his suit, blacker than night, and his slicked back, dark brown hair. His smirk widened as their eyes met and he raised an eyebrow.

“Checking me out already?” he asked.

“Just making sure you don’t have any weapons on you,” Michael said.

“Not me,” Lucifer murmured. “Unless you count a pen as a weapon.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a pen. It was black with gold accents. Infernal energy rolled off of it in waves.

Michael narrowed her eyes. “In the right hands,” she said. “Do you have the treaty?”

Lucifer smiled and snapped his fingers. It appeared in the middle of the table with a soft thump. Some of the papers were out of alignment and Michael straightened them without thinking. He chuckled and leaned forward, his chin resting on his clasped fingers. His red eyes were wide, all false innocence, watching her.

“You first,” Michael said, aware of the hush that fell over the crowd. It was done, then, she thought. Lucifer would sign, and then she would, and the war would be over. Ariel would continue to oversee Heaven, and Michael…

Her mind refused to let her follow that thought to the end. Instead she focused on the way Lucifer rifled through the papers to pluck the last page from the pile. He made a show of smoothing it against the table before signing it. Hellfire poured from the pen, burning an intricate pattern into the paper. He finished with a flourish and pushed it across the table to her.

“You’re sure you don’t want to reread it?” Lucifer asked. “Make sure it has all the Heavenly conditions you gave us?”

“You never break your word,” Michael said, reaching her hand out. “I’ve read it, and read it. There’s nothing missing.”

Lucifer dropped the pen into her hand. Michael flinched. It burned her palm as she held it and she signed her name as quickly as possible, the Hellfire spelling out the sigil of her name all wrong. The pen fell to the table as soon as she finished, and Lucifer reclaimed it.

“That’s it, then,” he said. “The war is over. You belong to me.”

“The war is over,” Michael agreed. She avoided looking at him now, keeping her gaze on the signed contract. “I belong to you.”

It was over, and everyone would be safe.

He clapped his hands and black cuffs bound her hands together. Again, Michael flinched at the sudden pain of damned metal touching her. The angels around her shifted and Michael could see Ariel, her eyes wide, her hand on the sword. Michael shook her head and Ariel’s shoulders slumped. She faded into the crowd and disappeared, no doubt to try and figure out how to keep everything together.

“Prince Beelzebub, assorted angels, please permit me a moment alone,” Lucifer proclaimed. He stood, waving his hands, and Michael grimaced.

_Always the braggart_ , she thought.

“I would speak with my war prize,” Lucifer continued, staring at Michael, a smirk on his face. “Alone.”

“Go,” Michael ordered, her head still bowed. Her hands clenched into fists as she felt the pull of angelic miracles. When she opened her eyes and lifted her head, the angels were gone. She, Lucifer, and Beelzebub were the only ones who remained.

Beelzebub stood and gathered the contract. “I’ll see you down there,” they said to Lucifer, and looked over at Michael. They winked before dissolving into a cloud of flies.

Michael stared at where Beelzebub was, and then up at Lucifer. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. She swallowed and looked down again, her heart pounding. The silence stretched to something intolerable before he spoke.

“Stand.”

Michael stood, the chains rattling. Lucifer walked around the table and hooked a finger around one of the links. He dragged her closer, forcing her to stumble, before grabbing her chin and turning her face to one side and the other. Michael’s temper flared and she bared her teeth.

“Careful,” Lucifer admonished, releasing her. “If you break your word, I won’t have any reason to keep mine, will I?”

“I’m not breaking my word,” Michael hissed as he walked in a circle around her. “I’m not scum.”

Lucifer inhaled in a mockery of a wince. “You wound me, sweetheart,” he said from somewhere behind her.

Michael suppressed the urge to turn around, instead straightening her shoulders. “A guilty conscience needs no accuser,” she said.

He laughed. His hand slid along her shoulders and she tensed. Her skin crawled at the feeling of his hand on her, even through the layers of clothing she wore. He stopped in front of her, his hand resting on her neck. She tilted her head back and stared at him straight in the eye. Lucifer grinned at her and lowered his hand to her hip.

“Shall we go home, then?” he asked, pulling her closer. “You’ll love it down there, sweetheart. I’ll see to that.”

Michael looked up at the sky. It was a peerless white, as it always was, not a disturbance to be seen. It was being enveloped in God’s grace, as close to her as Michael got these days. And now it was being stripped away from her. She would be as far removed from God as she could get when she was trapped in Hell. Michael drank in the last sight of it she would see for a long time, committing every inch of it to memory.

“Pet,” Lucifer said, running his fingers up and down her neck, “when I speak to you, I expect that you will respond. Is that clear?”

Michael closed her eyes, savouring the last minute of her freedom. She opened them again and stared at Lucifer.

“Yes,” she said. “I understand.”

His blood red eyes glowed in triumph, and he kissed her roughly as the ground opened and swallowed them whole, leaving no trace that they were ever there.

* * *

_“You know it’s not a good plan,” Gabriel said, pacing. His hands were balled into fists, his jaw working. “You know it won’t end with this.”_

_Michael ignored him. She was seated at her desk, staring at the treaty spread out before her. Their experts looked over each sentence for potential loopholes, or broken promises, and couldn’t find anything. It was a legitimate end to hostilities. Despite Gabriel’s mutterings at her back, Michael felt a flood of relief fill her. Death was her constant companion as a warrior, and she was tired of his skeletal hand on her shoulder. She watched countless angels fall at the swords of their enemies, and do the felling, and for what cause? What great, cosmic plan was there that would make all of the suffering worthwhile? Especially if Lucifer himself was weary of the war, and sought its end._

_“We don’t have any other choice,” Michael said at last. She turned her head to Gabriel, who stopped pacing and stared at her. “I’m going to sign it.”_

_“You’d sign yourself over to him?” Gabriel asked. He was appalled, and Michael couldn’t blame him._

_The very idea of belonging to anyone, let alone Lucifer, set her blood to boiling. It was his only term, though. Michael found the passage and ran her finger over it, highlighting the words in a stark red._

_“By signing this contract, you agree that the Archangel Michael forfeits her freedom, body, and soul to Satan, Father of Lies, and any other titles or names he may be known by,” she read. “It seems standard for any contract.”_

_“Standard?” Gabriel’s voice cracked on the second syllable. “Michael, you know what body-”_

_“Of course I do,” Michael snapped, cutting him off. She didn’t need to hear Gabriel say it, she saw it in the way Lucifer’s eyes always lingered on her. “We’re out of options, Gabriel. Uriel and Sandalphon are in comas. Angels are dying. This is his only term, and if it’s going to buy us safety, then I’m going to take it. We can figure out how to win later, once everything is settled.”_

_“But why does it have to be you?” Gabriel said at last. “Why does it have to be anyone?”_

_“I don’t know,” Michael said wearily. “But it’s not like there’s a better option.” The words stuck in her throat like Hellfire. She pushed through it, her fingers digging into her arms. “We lost, Gabriel. We don’t have the high ground anymore. We’re the losers, and we have to act like it.” A mirthless smile cut across her face like a wound. “This is common in human conflicts. Why not celestial?”_

_“It’s trash,” Gabriel said, his voice low and dark._

_Michael looked up sharply. “What?”_

_“It’s fucking trash!”_

_He picked up her chair and threw it in one fluid motion. It bounced off the thick glass of Michael’s office wall and fell to the floor. Gabriel panted, his hair in disarray, his hands clenching and unclenching around the air, as if holding an invisible sword. Michael stood and crossed the room to stand beside him. She put his hand on his shoulder and pushed some of her grace through to him. Anger washed away, replaced by a look of complete despair, his violet eyes almost filling with tears._

_Michael stepped back. “Don’t,” she said, her voice ragged. “If you do, I will, and then what use will we be?”_

_“One more,” Gabriel said, grabbing her hands. “One more battle. We can kill him, or kill someone, and-”_

_“Gabriel,” Michael said, shaking her head, “it’s over.”_

_“It’s not,” he said fiercely. “Please.” He took in a shuddering breath and pressed his hand to the side of her face. “I can’t lose you too,” he said. “Not you, and Uriel, and Sandalphon.”_

_And Michael thought she was weak, because her heart broke at the need on his face. She pressed their foreheads together, closing her eyes, wishing, wanting for him to be right. That one last battle would fix everything, and she wouldn’t have to sell her soul, go down to Hell in shackles._

_“One more,” she acquiesced. “Just one more battle. But Gabriel.” Her hand tightened in his hair as she fought back all of the words that threatened to spill from her lips. All of the decades of love, of trust, of working back to back. The centuries of laughter, frustration, war. The times he saved her from a demon’s weapon, the times she saved him from Hellfire. They all hung between them and Michael pulled away, sealing them away._

_“You can’t die,” she said, her voice firm. “And if we lose, that’s it. I’m signing the treaty, and we’ll accept whatever comes after that.”_

_Gabriel’s nostrils flared. Michael stared at him, her arms folded, until he looked away._

_“Fine,” he said, his shoulders slumped._

_Michael knew Gabriel, and knew the stubborn set of his jaw. He wouldn’t stop. He’d lead them all to death before he admitted they lost. As he left, she watched his shoulders straighten, his head lift, the picture of the confident Archangel. As if nothing was wrong. As if she hadn’t just agreed to let more angels die for the slight chance that she would be safe._

_Michael felt sick._


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucifer introduces Michael to Hell, and sets a few ground rules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning ahead for objectification, forced nudity, groping, and sexual assault.

Hell was unpleasant. A constant dripping noise drove her to distraction, and it was freezing cold. Michael paced the small room she was locked in, staring at the door. There was no door knob or handle to open it. It was smooth metal that was too cold to touch. She blew on her hands and rubbed them. The thin material of the gown she wore was no protection. It was so dark that Michael couldn’t see her hand in front of her face.

Lucifer tossed her into the cell after they arrived in Hell, walking away without a word. At first, she looked for a way out. When that failed, she pounded on the door and shouted through the grating. There was no response, and in the end, Michael sat down, her back against the wall, and closed her eyes. She slipped into a trance, reaching her essence out to the others in Heaven.

Three bangs on the door shook her out of her meditation and she started, her hand flying to a sword that didn’t exist.

A single red eye stared at her, unblinking. “You wouldn’t be trying to do something foolish, would you, sweetheart?”

Michael bit back a snarl. “No,” she said, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I wouldn’t.”

“Good. I’d hate to punish you,” Lucifer said, his voice soft, almost sweet. “Not yet, at any rate. Now, come out, honey.”

The door to her cell opened with a screech. Bright, sickly-grey light spilled through the door. Michael shielded her eyes and blinked. For a second, the figure in front of her was shadowed over by light. Michael’s eyes adjusted and she stared up at Lucifer. Instinct kicked in and she snarled, aiming a punch for his face.

“Whoa, there,” Lucifer said, catching first one fist, then the other. “You wouldn’t want to break the treaty, gorgeous.”

She started to mutter a prayer, the words falling from her lips with divine power. Lucifer’s smirk evaporated and his grip on her wrists tightened. The grace that was always at her fingertips, a thrum of electricity and heat under her skin, vanished as great, black cuffs appeared on her wrists. Her connection to God and Heaven was gone in a flash, and Michael tensed. She tried to pull on it, to smite him, and felt nothing.

“What did you do?” she snapped, staring at the cuffs. They glowed with infernal essence, demonic runes a vivid orange-red against the pitch black metal. 

“I would think it was obvious,” he answered. He trailed a finger along one of the cuffs, making the runes grow more brilliant. “I can’t have you abusing your powers down here. And I like seeing you so helpless, unable to access a shred of your power.”

Michael flinched as he drew close and he grinned at her. “I’m not helpless,” she said, her voice wavering.

“Of course not,” he said, his voice a low purr. “No one would ever think of you as anything less than a proud soldier, would they?”

He walked in a tight circle around her and grabbed her chin. He tilted her head one way and then the other. Michael glared at him and bared her teeth. Lucifer released her and she took a step back.

“So defiant, even now,” he said with a sigh. “But how lovely you are.” He tilted his head, staring at her lips. “Definitely the most beautiful thing She ever created. Besides me, of course.”

“Your lips have no business praising her,” Michael said coldly. “You forsook her a long time ago.”

Lucifer’s grin vanished.

“And whose fault is that, Michael?” he hissed. Her true name fell from his lips without so much as a consideration for the sacrilege behind it. “Who tore me from Her embrace?”

“You did it to yourself, Lightbringer,” Michael said, stepping forward, her eyes locked on his. “When you questioned Her, you lost your right to even think about Her.”

She curled her lip.

“You have no one but yourself to blame.”

Lucifer’s eyes burned like dying embers. He lifted his hand and Michael tilted her head back. She waited for the sting of the blow on her cheek. It would be preferable to this quiet malice. Instead, he lowered his hand and smiled, teeth gleaming in the harsh lighting.

“No,” he said, soft and calm. “You’d like it if I lost my cool. There will be plenty of time to punish you for your sins later.”

Sins, Michael thought. She had no sins.

“But right now, we have an appointment with Hell,” he said, grabbing her wrist. The cuff burned and she tried to jerk herself free. His knuckles became white, fingers bruising her. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Lucifer half-guided, half-dragged her through the hall. Michael followed, taking the chance to look around them. All of the rooms were empty of demons. No one disturbed them and Michael’s heart sank into her stomach. All of the demons were gathered somewhere, waiting for their lord.

Waiting for them both.

Lucifer stopped in front of a door, his back straight. Before her stood a king, a god. Michael swallowed and took a step back. He spoke without looking at her.

“You are to call me your master,” he said. 

Michael laughed.

“You’re dreaming,” she said.

Lucifer twisted her arm. Her shoulder burned with pain and she bit back a cry. She snarled instead.

“You do everything I say, pet,” he said. He shoved his face close to hers. “That was the deal.”

The threat hung between them in the air. Images of Heaven burning forced their way into Michael’s head, filling her nostrils with its stench. She couldn’t quite stop her shudder, and nodded once. 

“I know what the deal is,” Michael said. “Master.” There was a bitter edge to her voice that she didn’t bother hiding.

Lucifer smoothed his hand along her neck and Michael recoiled. His fingernails dug into her and left half-moon marks. Their lips met as he dragged her back towards him. She bit his lip and he smiled against her, his hands resting on the small of her back. 

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he said, running his eyes down her. “I’ve wanted to do more for a long time.”

Michael swallowed and shivered. “You won’t get to,” she said, her voice sharp. He didn’t want to do more, she told herself. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Lucifer cupped her cheek, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We’ll see about that,” he murmured, running his thumb under her eye. Then he turned away from her, his grip falling to her wrist, and waved his hand.

The door opened and revealed them to the mass of demons waiting for their lord. There were raucous cheers as Lucifer swept onto the stage, bringing Michael with him. She stumbled as the collective power of Hell hit her. The infernal energy was so filled with hatred and the desire to kill her, Michael almost expected a blade to be protruding from her stomach. Lucifer jerked her forward and forced her to her knees. Michael trembled, staring out at the sea of demons, aware of her own powerlessness.

“Demons of Hell,” Lucifer said. His voice boomed throughout the room, silencing everyone and drawing their attention. “The war against Heaven is over. We’ve won!”

More cheers. Lucifer lifted his hand, and the sounds froze to silence in an instant.

“And here is my prize for victory,” he said, jerking her head back. “The Archangel Michael, the root of our misfortune and our eternal torment. I hope you’ll all give my new pet a warm, Hellish welcome.”

Michael flinched from the looks the demons gave her. Those closest to her dared to reach out and grab at her gown sleeves. They tore strips of fabric from it, laughing and pointing at her. Malice dripped from them, saturating the air around them, and Michael inched away from their grasping claws. She ran into Lucifer’s legs and he rested his hand on her shoulder, keeping her against him. The air was stifling and Michael struggled to breath, terror overwhelming her. 

“Should we see what we’re working with?” Lucifer asked his demons, dragging Michael to her feet.

The crowd cheered and Lucifer smiled indulgently. He ran his hands down Michael’s arms before ripping her gown off of her with a flick of his wrist. It fell in tatters, revealing her naked body. Michael folded her arms over her chest, her heart pounding. All eyes were on her, devouring her body’s imperfections, studying the way her hips shifted and her legs shook. Some whistled at the sight of her penis, and Lucifer looked between her legs. He lifted his eyebrows and smirked at her.

“I like your equipment, dear,” he said, reaching out to touch it. “Do you know how to use it?”

His hand tightened around it and tugged. Michael slapped him away, snarling. He looked at her and his red eyes glittered. Then he backhanded her across the face. The force of it sent her careening back, and Lucifer grabbed her wrist and yanked her back. He pulled her arms away from her chest and inspected her breasts, touching them with clinical disinterest. Michael closed her eyes and imagined she was in the Garden of Eden, her siblings around her, a creek trickling somewhere close by. It was a small comfort, but the way he pinched her breasts kept shattering the gentle illusion. She gave up, letting go of Paradise, and opened her eyes.

“Spread your wings, pet,” Lucifer said. There was a smirk on his face, his eyes on the shackles around her wrists.

Michael twisted her lips and looked down at her feet. “I can’t, master,” she said, spitting the words at him. 

“That’s right,” Lucifer said, turning away from her and spreading his arms. “I’ve taken away the great Michael’s power! She’s not even able to stop me from doing this.”

He snapped his fingers and his power cut through her like a blade straight out of the forge. Feathers shook and delicate muscles quivered as her wings were spread to their limits. Lucifer ran his pointer along the ridge of the topmost wing, and an unfamiliar feeling spread through Michael. She shuddered as it pooled in her abdomen, whitehot and heavy. Lucifer lifted an eyebrow and his eyes gleamed. He turned back to the silent demons, his finger remaining on the ridge of her wng.

“See how obedient she is?” Lucifer asked the demons. “Our ruin, our oppressor, is completely at our mercy.”

He pulled at her flight feathers and and her blood froze in her veins. She twisted away from him and they slid through his grasp as Michael stepped back, her lips pressed together and her arms folded in front of her chest.

“Keep your filthy hands off of my wings,” she snarled.

“I do believe you mean my wings, doll,” Lucifer said. “Remember, you belong to me.”

He turned away from her, facing the crowd of demons in front of him. Michael’s eyes narrowed, and she ground her teeth together. She was his enemy, his equal, and he was treating her like she was nothing.

“What do we do with pets that can fly away?” Lucifer said. He was the very picture of a preacher in front of his congregation, and they prayed to him in answer.

“Tear off her wings!” one voice shouted from the crowd.

“Burn them off!” another voice shouted.

“Pluck each feather, one at a time!”

Lucifer smiled. “No,” he said. “You make sure they can’t.”

“My Lord,” a voice said from beside them, buzzing like a cloud of flies around carrion. 

Michael turned her head to stare at Beelzebub. They were holding a pair of scissors. The blades were a deep red with demonic engravings, Enochian symbols twisted and burned, and were as long as Beelzebub’s arms. Lucifer took the scissors and ran his hand along one of the blades. Beelzebub took a step back and clasped their hands in front of them, their face an expressionless mask. Michael caught their gaze and Beelzebub’s lips twitched downward.

Lucifer jerked his head and six other demons stepped forward. Each one of them grabbed a fistful of her feathers, keeping her wings extended. One pulled, forcing the wing he held to stretch beyond its limits. Michael cried out in pain and grabbed his wrist.

“Let go of him,” Lucifer said, not even turning to look at her.

The demon pulled his hand away and grinned down at her. His green eyes sparkled as they ran over her, focusing on her breasts. She sneered at him and looked away, her heart pounding. 

Lucifer walked around to stand in front of her. He drew the point of the blades along her cheek, down her neck, and along her wing. Michael closed her eyes against the inevitable.

The scissors cut through her feathers without any resistance. She felt their loss start with the uppermost left wing, six feathers sheared away. Michael’s nostrils flared. The body that God gave her was being altered, and she glared at Lucifer as he lined up the scissors with her next set of feathers. He leaned down closer to her, his head an inch away from hers, and murmured words for her ears alone.

“Don’t worry about what God would want for you, precious. You belong to me now, remember?”

And he cut through the rest of her flight feathers, trimming each set down to the quick. The veins oozed golden blood, and Lucifer pressed the tips of his fingers against them. They stopped bleeding and he licked the blood off of his fingers before tossing the scissors behind him. They disappeared before they hit the floor and Lucifer gestured to the demons around her.

Her last wing was released and Michael furled all of them against her body. She opened her eyes as a hush settled over the crowd. Lucifer stared back at her, his face a study in blankness. He held six red leather ribbons in his hands. Demonic runes glowed along their length, a white orange. Heat and malice rolled off the ribbons in waves. Michael stood and took a step back. Six pairs of hands stopped her and pushed her forward. She stumbled into Lucifer, her hand brushing one of the ribbons.

It left a searing burn along her hand and she jumped back, trembling.

"Turn around, my pretty pet," Lucifer said, whirling his finger in the air. “Show us those glorious wings of yours. Pure white, their divinity untouched. Unspoilt.”

Michael stared at him, holding her hand to her chest, rubbing the burn. She imagined them on her wings, the steady burn, and shook her head. “No,” she said, her stomach tense. There was a lump in her throat, and her heart was trying to beat out of its chest. “I won’t.”

“Turn her around.” Lucifer looked past her to the demons and they obeyed, spreading her wings again.

Their hands were rough, fingers digging into her arms, forcing her to remain still. The first ribbon was tied on the base of her uppermost wing, and it burned. Michael jerked away from it, the smell of burnt feathers filling the packed hall. The demons held her in place as Lucifer tied the next one, and then the next. The pain brought her to her knees and two demons jerked her arms up.

"Jesses usually go around feet, but this will do just as nicely," Lucifer boomed, tying the other three. "Everyone will know who you belong to.”

“Nn,” Michael managed through the pain. It was like her wings were amputated, all connection to them severed. She grit her teeth and stared straight ahead, gathering herself to retreat away from the pain. 

Lucifer grabbed her hair and yanked it back, bringing her back to her reality. “I could stop the pain,” he said, his voice a stage whisper. “Make it numb, like it’s not even there. If you asked nicely.”

A hush fell over the crowd. Michael could almost hear the murmurs rippling outward. Anticipation settled over everyone and Michael waited a beat before looking over at Lucifer. Her tongue was dry against her lips. 

“Drop dead,” she said, and spat in his face.

His expression hardened and he dealt her another vicious backhand. Blood dripped down her chin from her split lip, and she lifted her head. 

“You’ll regret that,” he said, grabbing her by her chin.

Energy crashed over her, searing her lip closed and cleaning the blood away. Michael flinched at how unclean it left her, like she rolled in mud and muck. He forced her to her feet, pulling her free of her captors, and pushed her forward. She came to a halt a few steps from the edge of the stage and held her head high, nostrils flaring.

Lucifer stepped beside her, his hand on the small of her back. His anger was gone, replaced by the brittle shell of his calm, in control exterior. Michael could feel the turmoil underneath, the screaming, burning angel that she cast down into Hell. His smile was stretched at the edges, his eyes devoid of anything but wrath. None of it mattered - not her nakedness, the humiliation of being beaten and bound, not even the amusement of all of the demons of Hell.

What mattered to him, Michael thought, was that he _won_. What he did to her now was a bonus. He would get bored, and then she would be free. 

"What pet would be complete without a collar?" Lucifer asked the crowd, interrupting her thoughts with a wave of his free hand. “I’ve found so many that I think would look just divine, but I need your help picking the best one.”

The demons roared their approval, and behind Lucifer appeared a hat stand. Hanging on each branch was a different collar. Some were fabric, some were metal, and some were leather. They all radiated the same demonic energy as her cuffs, she realised. Lucifer beckoned her over. 

Michael held her ground and folded her arms. “No,” she said.

Lucifer snapped his fingers and her muscles jerked against her will. Michael’s feet walked her over, and her knees bent before him, and he placed his hand on her head. Michael kept control of her breathing through a sheer force of will.

“You know, once, you had hair as long as your sword,” he said, running his hands through her hair, pulling it down her back, elongating the strands until they tumbled in artful curls down to her hips. “I always loved watching it, when you would spar against the air, and how it shone like fire.”

Michael’s breath hitched and she looked up at him with wide eyes. He held her gaze for a fleeting moment before looking away. The crowd shifted, unease falling over them for the first time.

Lucifer plucked one of the collars off of the branch and walked behind her. "What about this one?" he asked.

The demons booed as one. Lucifer threw the collar to the side. He picked out another one, silver metal engraved with Satanic symbols, and held it against Michael's neck. A ring broke up the smooth metal band in the middle. The crowd booed again, and Lucifer tossed it aside without a care.

"A picky bunch," Lucifer said with a laugh, his earlier slip forgotten. He gave Michael a sly smile. "Let's have the pet pick one, hm? Give her a little agency in picking what she’ll wear for me.”

Michael looked at the collars. She lifted her hand, hesitated, and then pointed to one. The bell jangled with every move Lucifer made as he plucked it from the stand and held it aloft for the crowd to see. It was a light blue band of fabric with a bell on it. Unlike many of the others, it lacked engravings and frills. It was simple, and plain, and Michael felt a moderate amount of revulsion when she looked at it instead of a stomach turning sickness.

"Pretty," Lucifer said, turning the collar over and over. “A bit plain, though. Not befitting the pet of the King of Hell.”

Lucifer caressed the edges of it. White, ruffled lace fashioned itself along the bottom. White satin bows appeared around the circumference of the collar. Michael's face burned with shame as he lifted it into the air and the demons cheered.

She took a step back as he drew close. He smiled, slow and sharp, and she let him fasten the collar around her neck. It looked cartoonish next to her cuffs and the jesses on her back. Lucifer tugged at the ring in the middle and she stepped forward, her eyes narrowed and her teeth bared. He left his finger there, hooked through the circle of metal, his knuckle brushing against her neck. 

The collar display disappeared. In its place appeared a garment rack adorned with dresses adorned with frills to match her collar. With each dress came stockings hung above a pair of high heels. Michael wrapped her arms around her chest and longed for her pants suit. 

Lucifer walked over to the rack, pulling her along with him, and swept his hand grandly. The first outfit clung to Michael like a second skin. It was red and made with a material that shone in the garish lighting. The stockings were also red, ending just above her knees. Her shoes were bright red with heels that were at least six inches high. Michael towered over Lucifer, but as he ran his eyes over her, she felt small.

“What about a lovely red?” Lucifer asked his horde, walking around Michael. His hand trailed over her shoulders and she suppressed a shudder. “It matches that flaming hair.” 

"No!" a voice called from the crowd and there were answering jeers from the rest.

Lucifer smiled indulgently. He swept his hand and the next outfit appeared. This, too, was rejected. They worked through the entire rack. Michael endured the catcalls, whistles, even Lucifer's cackles at the more revealing outfits.

I am the Invincible Prince, she told herself over and over. He's doing this because he's afraid of me. I'm feared. I'm Satan's Bane.

It was hard to feel that way when she was dressed in a sheer dress that came down to her hips. Her shoulders were bared, ruffled lace hanging from the top seam. Her breasts were visible through the fine mesh of the fabric, and the high cut underwear exposed her ass to the air. Michael tried to cover herself and Lucifer snapped his fingers. Chains bound her hands behind her back. The demons staring up at her whooped, leering at her.

She glared out at all of the demons. Her hands twitched for a weapon of any kind. The crowd would be defenseless, high on her humiliation. She could cut a swath through them and save herself. Then she saw Ligur, leaning against the wall in the back, his eyes a swirling red. Hastur stood next to him, scowling, a cigarette clamped between his teeth. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked over at Lucifer. He stared out at the crowd, but the smirk on his face was directed to her. She knew it, and her fists balled behind her back.

"I hope you all found that entertaining," Lucifer said, breaking Michael from her reverie. "I know I did," he added.

He walked over to his throne and lounged on it, his legs spread wide. He beckoned, and her muscles were overpowered again, forcing her forward. When she was close he grabbed her arm and pulled her down onto his lap. He turned her to face everyone, his hands on her hips.

"But, sadly, all fun must end sometime." Lucifer proclaimed. "Say goodbye, precious."

His knee dig in between her legs. Michael swallowed her first response and took a deep breath.

“Goodbye,” she parroted, and a small piece of her pride shriveled and sloughed off.

There were a few grumbling complaints, but the demons made their way out of the hall, groaning flesh smashing together as behemoths and small demons alike battered against each other. Michael watched them all and imagined their black blood falling from them in rivers, flooding all of Hell as she stood above them, golden and glowing, untouched and unspoilt.

The top of her slip rubbed against her collarbones, scratchy and harsh, and brought her back to reality. Lucifer’s arm hooked around her, dragging her back against his chest, and he rested his chin on her shoulder. He was burning against her skin, and she shivered.

He kissed her cheek as the room cleared, leaving behind four demons. Michael looked at each of them in turn, meeting their eyes, flaring her nostrils in condemnation as Lucifer’s lips moved to her neck, the tip of his tongue darting out to flick against her skin. 

Prince Beelzebub, who flicked a fly off of their shoulder and looked up at the ceiling, sighing. Lord General Dagon, who was staring at her, hand resting on a sword hilt, shoulders tense.

And, of course, Ligur and Hastur, who only had eyes for her, rage boiling under the surface. Ligur started to walk forward and Michael twitched her head, eyes wide. He stopped, stricken, and his chameleon turned a bright shade of blue.

Lucifer leaned forward, molding their bodies together, sliding his hands down her thighs. “Something wrong, Duke Ligur?” he asked, and then sucked air through his teeth, wincing. "That’s right, you and Michael had something during the war, didn’t you? Some kind of pact.”

His fingers drummed on the arm of his throne. Ligur shifted, and the emotions that bubbled so close to the surface disappeared. He looked at Michael once and snorted.

"Yes, Lord," he said, derision dripping from each word. "I conned her for information on Heaven’s plans. I fed her fake information for thousands of years, and coaxed information out of her." His expression turned to a leer. “Among other things, Lord.”

Michael bit her lip and looked down at her feet. Lucifer laughed, palming her dick through her underwear. She flushed along her chest and collarbones, her heart pounding as his fingers ran along the length of her. Disgust filled her, even as she fought to keep herself still.

“Of course you did,” Lucifer said. He stroked the top of her head. “She probably rode you, didn’t she, until she was practically split apart on you? A shame, really, that you’ve touched her first.”

His nails turned into claws and dug into Michael’s thighs. His firebright eyes locked on Ligur. The temperature in the room rose, waves of heat emanating from Lucifer. Everyone shifted away from the throne, their eyes downcast. The stench of sulfur almost suffocated Michael, and she shifted. Lucifer dragged her back again, one hand on her throat, the other in between her legs. He started to stroke her dick, placing pressure on her windpipe until she wheezed. Confusion and a feeling she never felt before mixed, and her hips twitched under his ministrations. 

"You understand, of course, that it stops now, Duke Ligur," Lucifer said, giving Michael’s dick a final twist before resting his hand on her thigh again. "She's mine."

"It is as you say, Lord," Ligur said. He kept his eyes on the ground. "She's yours."

“And that includes you, Duke Hastur,” Lucifer said, glancing at Hastur. “No one speaks to her without my permission. No one even looks at her without my permission. Is that understood?”

“It is,” Hastur croaked, his nails digging into his palm. 

The pressure on her throat eased and she coughed, her lungs reinflating with air. They burned with each breath that she drew through parted lips. Lucifer’s fingers brushed tantalisingly close to her cock as he drew his hand to her shoulder. His other hand moved from her neck to her other shoulder, leaving purple bruises where they rested.

“Good,” he said at last. “Princess? Is that understood?”

Michael stared at the wall and nodded once.

“Good girl,” Lucifer whispered in her ear.

He toyed with the top of Michael's dress and then pushed his hands underneath it.  
His fingertips brushed over her breasts and, without thinking, she slapped his hands away. There was an uneasy silence before Lucifer laughed. 

"I've always said you had claws, pet," Lucifer said. 

He put his hands back on her breasts over the dress and squeezed until Michael gasped. The pain mixed with a spark of pleasure from deep within her. Lucifer slipped his hand under the top of the dress and began kneading one breast. With his other hand, he grabbed the small ring on her collar and dragged her closer. Michael lowered her head submissively. Michael’s heart pounded in her chest. It beat a steady rhythm against the silence of the room. It was just to put on a show, she told herself. He didn’t want her, not in that way. Humiliated, desolate, isolated, yes. That was what Lucifer wanted.

He gathered her hair into his hands and pulled her back. He buried his face in her neck, her hair a curtain around him, and inhaled. Michael trembled. The lust in the room was almost palpable.

He won’t, she thought. He won’t.

Lucifer pulled back and split her hair into three sections. He began to plait her hair while speaking, the show over.

“I’ve kept you four here because you’ve all had some kind of interaction with my pet,” Lucifer said. “That ends now. Like I said, no one looks at her without my permission. If they do…” He trailed off.

His fingers worked deftly, weaving in a black ribbon as he went. Michael kept her eyes locked on the wall ahead and thought of nothing.

“I will rip you all to shreds,” he continued. “If I ever catch any of you breathing in her direction, not even retreating into the lowest reaches of Hell will save you. And may I take mercy on you if you touch my new toy. Any pleasure she can give is reserved for me alone.”

Michael’s hair hung down her back in a French plait. Lucifer pulled her back so that her head rested against his shoulder. His hands curled around her hips and stroked just above her hip bone. No one would meet her gaze and Michael’s thin defenses were starting to crumble.

He wouldn’t, she thought, and a low voice in the back of her head spoke up, sneering.

He would, and you know it.

“Is that understood?” he asked.

“Yes, Lord,” the four demons said in unison.

Lucifer smiled. 

"Excellent. You may all leave," he commanded.

There was no room for argument. Everyone left, leaving Michael alone with Lucifer. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing until Michael thought it would drive her mad. Her fear was beginning to eat at her, destroying her carefully constructed calm.

She was alone, torn from her home, made into a prisoner by her own need to keep everyone she loved safe. And Lucifer was her warden.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind comments! The full story is up on the Dreamwidth Kink Meme, but if you're interested in the edits and rewrites, hang around. I'm aiming to post a chapter a week, especially now that the world is so quiet.


	3. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale and Crowley make a pact, and Lucifer makes a move.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for this chapter:
> 
> Non-con/Rape, non-consensual genital morphing (penis to vagina), non-consensual drugging, alcohol.
> 
> Please heed them and take care of yourself.

Chapter 2: 

“Aziraphale!”

The shout echoed throughout the empty and dark bookshop. Aziraphale took a gulp of his scotch straight from the bottle. He was sitting in his upstairs flat, on his made bed. His packed suitcase stood across the room at him. Ariel gave it to him, her golden eyes lacking their usual lustre and joy, and told him to pack anything essential.

Aziraphale shoved it full of books and hot chocolate.

Footsteps bounded up the stairs and the door to his bedroom burst open. Crowley stood in the doorway, his sunglasses askew, panting. Aziraphale looked up at him and took another swig of his scotch.

“To the end of the world,” he said, lifting the bottle in Crowley’s direction.

Crowley crossed the room and kneeled down, taking the bottle from Aziraphale’s hands. Half of its contents were gone, sloshing in Aziraphale’s stomach. He made a few attempts to reclaim it, his fingers grasping at empty air. Crowley set it down on the ground and took Aziraphale’s hands. His amber eyes locked on Aziraphale, unblinking.

“When are you going back?”

Aziraphale shrugged one shoulder. “I was supposed to be back already. Ariel’s too busy being sad to notice.”

Crowley’s lips twitched. “How long have you been drinking in the dark?”

“Not very long,” Aziraphale said, indignant. “Just a couple of hours.” He was silent, playing with his hands. 

“Do you want to go back?”

Aziraphale looked up and met Crowley’s eyes. “No. Do you?”

“Nah,” Crowley said, sitting on the bed beside Aziraphale. “Wouldn’t be the same, not being on Earth.”

They sat together. Aziraphale played with his hands, picking at a thread in his sweater. He looked over at Crowley sidelong and met his gaze. Crowley gave a half-smile and took Aziraphale’s hand in his.

“Run away with me,” Crowley said. “You’re already packed.”

Aziraphale let out a breathless sort of laughter. “Right. I’ll just grab my suitcase and we can be on the next plane out of London, shall we?”

He laughed and stopped when he realised Crowley wasn’t laughing with him. The demon’s mouth was turned downwards, the middle of his brow above his nose creased. A lock of his overstyled hair fell into his face and Aziraphale brushed it away. His fingers lingered over Crowley’s temple before pulling away. Aziraphale folded his hands back into his lap and stared at anywhere that wasn’t Crowley.

“I can’t,” he said. “I need to support Heaven.”

“What can you do?” Crowley shouted, jumping to his feet and gesturing wildly. He grimaced and ran a hand through his hair. “I mean,” he said, his voice softer, “let’s face it, angel. Neither one of us is very important in our respective sides.”

Aziraphale’s lips twisted.

“Heaven didn’t recall you because they desperately need you,” Crowley said, dropping to his knees in front of Aziraphale once more. He took Aziraphale’s hand with the same care taken when defusing a bomb. “Heaven recalled you because it’s over. The war is over. It doesn’t matter if we’re in Heaven or Hell, not anymore.”

“Says you,” Aziraphale muttered under his breath. He closed his eyes and willed the alcohol out of his system. It drained out of him, filling the scotch bottle. Sober, he opened his eyes and stared at Crowley. “I can’t abandon them. We’ve lost our leaders.”

“Leaders that never cared about you until it was convenient for them,” Crowley said, spitting the words. 

Aziraphale lifted a shoulder into a shrug. “They’re still my family,” he said.

Crowley stared at him. “Tell me one thing you like about Heaven more than Earth, and I’ll never ask you to run again.”

Aziraphale blinked. His mind went blank as he tried to think of something. God’s grace? The white sterility? The faint smell of cleaning chemicals, even though there wasn’t any need to clean? He knew he wouldn’t miss the lingering glances, the whispers behind hands, the sharp disapproval in four sets of eyes. 

He would miss the scent of autumn, the way the leaves turned from verdant green to red and gold. The joy of spring, when everything stirred from snow, and new life broke through again, was something that would never be in Heaven. No angel could appreciate the way the perfect biscuit broke apart when bit into, or the taste of a fine scotch on a dark and stormy evening.

Crowley’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “See?”

“I can’t abandon Michael to her fate,” Aziraphale said. Crowley’s grin flickered and Aziraphale shrugged. “I have to at least try to help.”

“Why?” Crowley asked, blinking. “Why do you have to do anything, Aziraphale? Can’t you see what the end of the war means? We’re free.” He began to pace, his snakeskin boots clacking on the floor. “We don’t have to go back. We don’t have to do anything. Besides, again, what are you going to do? March into Hell and drag her out? You’d make a terrible Orpheus, Aziraphale, and Michael an even worse Eurydice.” 

“It would be unangelic to just let her rot in Hell,” Aziraphale said, setting his jaw. “Especially because I know what he’s doing to her.”

He gave Crowley a pointed look and Crowley flinched. He pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose and continued to pace, avoiding Aziraphale’s eyes. It was a topic the two of them agreed to never bring up, and Aziraphale sighed. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and Crowley shrugged one shoulder.

“Even if you wanted to do something - and I’m not convinced you actually do - what would you do? If the Archangel who threw Satan down in the first place couldn’t stop him, what makes you think you can?” Crowley stopped pacing and folded his arms.

Aziraphale swallowed. “I couldn’t protect you,” he said, his voice thick with unshed grief. “I couldn’t save you. I can-”

“You can’t,” Crowley said, sitting next to Aziraphale again, placing his hand on Aziraphale’s. “No one can defeat him, and you know it. He’s not going to look for me again, and no one’s going to look for you either.” He took a deep breath and squeezed Aziraphale’s hand. “We’re on our own side,” he whispered, the words falling from him with the urgency that only came with being unsaid for a long time. 

Aziraphale’s breath left him in a rush. He waited, trembling, on the edge of a new understanding, and Crowley’s voice was guiding him over.

“We’re on our own side,” Crowley continued, tasting the words, the sibilant syllable rolled off his tongue, “and I love you. Run away with me. Please.”

The idea that angels never wanted for anything was as false as the idea that angels were loving, forgiving, and benevolent. Angels were as selfish and flawed as any of Her other creations. For many years, all Aziraphale wanted to hear was that Crowley loved him.

And now he had.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and squeezed Crowley’s hand back.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Well," Lucifer said, rolling his shoulders back, "I think we both deserve a drink after that. Don’t you, pet?”

They were in his bed chambers, which could have easily fit her office, Gabriel’s office, and Uriel’s office with room to spare. A four poster bed pressed against the wall, a deep crimson canopy hanging down. Its velvet edges were smooth under Michael’s fingers. Her heels clacked on the cold, grey stone floor. The walls looked the same as the floor, the once rough stone smoothed over. At the wall furthest from the door, there was a wardrobe made of black wood, set with gold inlays and handles. 

The ceiling was obscured by a facsimile of the night sky, complete with stars and planets, and Michael stared up at it, breathless and wide eyed. Star making was never part of her duties, but she watched Uriel and Sandalphon make a nebula, once, and the way they melded stardust, heat, and energy together was breathtaking. Entranced, Michael stared up at the ceiling until Lucifer placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Stunning, isn’t it?” he asked, pressing a thin glass into her hands. The stem of it was made of crystals. “I didn’t make any stars myself, but I do admire beautiful things.”

His finger trailed down her arm as he spoke, and Michael stepped away. A bead of sweat trickled down her forehead as she swallowed and looked into the cup. A milky green liquid reflected back at her, its surface undisturbed. She put the tip of her finger inside of it and sucked the liquid off. It was bitter, and she pulled her finger back and wrinkled her nose.

When she looked back up, Lucifer was staring at her, his pupils wide and his knuckles white around the cup. Michael swallowed and looked back down at her drink. Her heart pounded, and she blushed.

“You’re absolutely stunning, too,” Lucifer said, stepping forward. “A dying star, dragging everything into its orbit, careless of the damage you cause.”

He trailed the back of his hand down her cheek, and then slid his fingers into her hair. Michael took another step back, her skin crawling. He smiled and took a step forward, and then another. Michael backed against the wall and Lucifer came to a stop before her, his smile wider. He put his hand next to her head and she aimed a punch to his nose.

With her angelic strength gone, the bones of her knuckles crumpled an inch before his face. They broke and she hissed, pulling her hand back to her chest. He looked down and shifted his drink from one hand to the other. He took her hand and brought it to his lips. Dark, demonic energy sparked at the edge of her senses and her bones knit themselves back together. He lingered over her hand, his red eyes glowing, and the jesses on her wings burned. Her lips parted, and she started to lean forward.

“A toast,” he said, releasing her hand and raising his glass. “To your new home, and your new life.”

Michael frowned and held still. Lucifer clinked their glasses together and drained his. His throat moved while he drank and Michael watched it, her jaw going slack. He finished and sighed, cracking his neck.

"Absinthe,” he said, examining the empty glass. “It’s a drink made from aniseed, fennel, and wormwood." He shook his head. “The things humans come up with. Their imagination is something that we could only dream of.”

“Pretending you like humanity?” Michael asked, arching a brow, with more bravado than she felt. “How noble of you.”

He grinned at her. “I fell for them, darling,” he said. “It’s Her who hates them, not me.”

Michael scowled and straightened. Her wings spread behind her, and she used what little power she still possessed to light herself up with her divinity. “She doesn’t hate,” Michael said, her voice sharp. “She loves all of her creations, you miserable-”

“Touched a nerve, have I?” Lucifer interrupted, and it was his turn to arch an eyebrow at her. “She’s not your master anymore, pet. I am.” He took the glass from her and raised it to her mouth. “Drink.”

“I will not,” Michael said, spitting the words at him. 

His smile fell from his face and he tossed his empty glass aside. It shattered on the floor as he forced her mouth open by pressing his thumb and pointer into the hollow points of her jaw. The bitter, burning liquid passed over her tongue as she swallowed, helpless to resist. At last, the glass was empty, and Lucifer pulled it away and placed it on top of his dresser.

Michael put a hand on her middle as her stomach protested the first taste of matter she ever had. Lucifer stood, his back to her, and she looked around the room. By the ostentatious fireplace was a poker, and she crept over, keeping him in her peripheral vision, and took it. The metal was cold and heavy in her hand and she turned back to Lucifer, taking a deep breath before lunging.

He whirled around and caught her hand, pulling her flush against him. Michael struggled, beating at his chest with one fist, and he pinned it between them and kissed her. His teeth split her lower lip and she gasped, outraged, and inched the poker closer to his neck. It disappeared as he pushed his tongue past her lips and teeth into her mouth, sliding it over hers, filling her with the taste of cloves and sulfur. She bit down on his tongue and he pulled on her hair until she let go, a small cry of pain leaving her. He leaned back and studied her, licking his lips.

“Now, Michael,” he said, forcing her hands behind her back and shackling them in place, “wouldn’t it be so much easier to give in? What are you going to, fight me forever? You know exactly what I want, dear, even if you’re too afraid to admit it to yourself.”

“It’s my duty to fight you,” Michael said, biting the air as he came close again. “As for what you want? You’re not capable of it.”

Lucifer paused, a small frown creasing his brow. “What?”

“Sex,” Michael said, tossing her hair behind her. “It’s an expression of love. You’re not capable of it.”

He stared at her before laughing. He cackled, releasing her and doubling over, his hands on his thighs. Michael backed away and the bed hit the back of her knees. She fell onto it and sat up, pushing her way back to the wall. Lucifer stopped laughing, wiping away an imaginary tear.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, advancing to the bed and climbing onto it, “I have so much to teach you.”

Michael pressed against the wall as he stopped in front of her, sliding his hand up her calf. She pulled her leg away and he followed, sliding both of his hands up her thighs. He eased her underwear down, freeing her cock, and she tried to move away. Her movements were sluggish, and the room swam as Lucifer kissed her, molding their bodies together. She whimpered as he cupped her cheeks and settled in between her legs. There was nowhere for her to pull away, and so she turned her head away from him.

He paused, and then moved his lips to her neck, leaving wet kisses down to her collarbone. His tongue scraped along her skin, and she made a small sound, pushing her heels against the mattress. 

“Stop,” she managed, and he looked up at her, his forehead pressed against her neck, his mouth leaving a red mark above her breast. “Please,” she whispered. “Stop. Please.”

“No,” he said, and ripped her dress in half.

Her breasts were exposed and he stared at them, hungry. Without him holding her up, Michael fell to the bed, landing on her back. He straddled her and took one of her nipples into his mouth, sucking on it. Michael’s hips bucked and she moaned as a sharp, hot feeling settled in her groin. 

His erection rubbed her thigh as he went back to sucking on her neck. Michael stared at the wall opposite her, watching the light cast patterns on the stone wall. They ran together until they formed shadows, a man on top of a woman. Lucifer on top of her. 

His hand wrapped around her cock and she jumped, tears in her eyes. “Stop,” she said, twisting under him. “Stop, stop-”

He kissed her and licked her tears away. “Sh, princess,” he said, soothing, stroking her hair with his free hand. “You’re safe, darling. And I’m going to make you feel so good, you’re never going to want to stop.” He kissed her again, deeper, and pushed down on her cock. 

It shrank, going back inside of her, and Michael screamed at the harsh, awful power that tore through her. Lucifer swallowed her cries, dancing his fingers along her splitting cock, pushing it until it was against her pubic bone, right above a hole. He explored it with a finger, little sparks of his will tweaking parts of her as it went. 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he said, kissing her jaw. “I bet this feels good, doesn’t it, kitten? Ligur never gave you this much pleasure, did he? Say it.”

Michael turned her head to stare at him. His lips were red from kissing her, and he cocked his head, waiting. She swallowed and tried to speak, but his finger curled inside of her and she moaned instead, the end of it turning into a sob. 

“We didn’t,” she cried out, pushing against the mattress again as he drove his finger deeper. “I swear, we didn’t do anything, please, I’ve never done this before. Lucifer, stop, please.”

“You’ve never had sex before?” Lucifer asked, a delighted grin on his face. “Well, now, that changes everything.”

He pulled his finger out of her and waved his clothes away. Her hands were freed from their shackles and he lifted her so she could pull them out from under her. Then he laid her back down and rested on top of her, kissing her with soft tenderness. Her hands rested on his chest as he explored her body with his hands, running them along her curves. He tasted her, his tongue lapping at the hollow at the base of her neck, her sternum, the line up the middle of her body. He kissed scars, bit at her thighs, and spread her legs.

“You’ll enjoy this, kitten,” he said before pushing his tongue into her.

The hot pleasure in her groin erupted, and she thrust her hips into his face, keening. He sucked on her, his fingers bruising her hips, and Michael twisted her head back and forth as the pleasure started to build again, more urgent and desperate. His tongue went deep inside of her and the toe curling wave of ecstasy hit her again. And then again, as he took a part of her in between his teeth and rolled it.

He let her hips fall back to the bed and she curled into a ball, sobbing. 

“Don’t pretend like you don’t love it,” he said, pulling her back to him and forcing her legs apart. “I’ve never seen someone come so quickly just from being licked. You’re something else, gorgeous. I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re not drugged and pathetic.”

He grabbed his cock and gave it a few rubs along the shaft before impaling her on it. Michael screamed, her back arching from the pain as Lucifer groaned and threw his head back. He drove himself in and out of her at a merciless pace, his cock thick and wide, stretching her. She cried, locked in place by his hands and the waves of dizziness and confusion that washed over her.

It seemed to stretch on for an eternity, his quiet grunts and the sound of flesh on flesh. Michael retreated into the deepest part of her mind, hiding from the savage triumph on Lucifer’s face and the pressure that kept mounting between her legs, a hideous feeling of longing and need. It invaded her private sanctuary, drowned her senses until it was all she could feel, and reached its breaking point.

A wave of pleasure rolled over her, pulled from some deep part of her. Michael screamed soundlessly, and she felt a wet heat flood and overflow in between her legs. Lucifer pulled out of her, panting, his pupils eclipsing the red of his eyes, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead.

She only struggled a little, her muscles limp and loose, as he pulled her close to him, the top of her head resting against his chin. He rubbed her back, murmuring something she could barely hear, until she fell into darkness, reality slipping away.


	4. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for torture and rape in this chapter.
> 
> Sorry for the delay, everyone! I've been working through some stuff with this quarantine.

Chapter 3:

She woke up with her head pounding. An arm was thrown over her chest, the hand curled around her upper arm. She stared at it before following the arm to the figure resting against her side. Lucifer’s eyes were closed, brown hair falling into his face. His side rose and fell with his breath in an even pattern. She watched him for a moment, taking in his lack of clothing, and then hers. Flashes of the night came back to her; Lucifer’s head in between her legs, her back arched, and a pleasure that hurt.

Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. She lifted her hand and placed it between her legs, seeking her usual cock. Instead, she was greeted with soft skin folded over itself. Carefully, she sat up, Lucifer’s arm falling to her lap. He shifted, a small frown on his face, and Michael held her breath. He settled back with a sigh, his nails digging into her thigh. Michael looked down in between her legs. A slit replaced the base of her cock, hairless and smooth. When she touched it, a little thrill ran through her. She parted the folds, and inspected what they hid.

At the very top of the foreign genitals was a small bump that, when Michael prodded it, sent another thrill through her. This time, it was followed by a warmth that settled along the top of her chest and she bit her lip. It was the same pleasure that he dragged out of her last night. Below it was an opening, and Michael pushed her finger inside and gasped. 

Lucifer twitched and tightened his grip around her thigh. His nails left moon-shaped marks as they slid down her skin. Michael grimaced and pulled her finger free of the tight vice of her genitals. It took her a moment to remember the anatomical term humans gave it, and she shuddered. Lucifer changed her body.

Fury coursed through her and her hand tightened around the bedsheets. Lucifer _changed her body_. It was given to her by God, and Lucifer disregarded how holy it was and changed it. Mutilated it. Then he raped it, claiming it for his own. Michael was more than her corporation, but it belonged to no one but herself and God. The fury burst and Michael looked at the poker, back in its place by the fire. Ignoring the soreness of her legs and her abdomen, ignoring the puff of air from Lucifer, Michael stood and crossed the room to the fireplace. Her hair brushed against her ass as she took it, closing her fingers around the cold iron. No holy power could work past the manacles around her wrists, but when she hefted the poker into the air, it made a satisfying woosh as she swung it. She turned and stared at her sleeping captor.

With all the quiet and grace she was given, Michael walked forward until she was at the foot of the bed. Lucifer turned onto his back, his arm thrown to the side, as if he was still pinning her to the bed. Michael twirled the poker in the air and raised it, her heart pounding in her chest. Nothing else mattered but sinking the point of it into his chest.

Not herself, and not Heaven.

She stabbed downward, aiming for his heart.

His hand shot out and grabbed the poker, stopping it an inch from his chest. He opened one eye and glanced at her. His lips curved into a smile. The poker disappeared and Michael staggered back as he sat up, the blankets falling around his waist. He looked her over and tilted his head.

“You’re going to take some work, aren’t you?” he said, and lifted his fingers. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m not above putting in a little effort in breaking a wild mare.”

Michael began to snarl, and Lucifer snapped his fingers. Darkness clouded her vision and she fell into it, losing consciousness.

Pain seared along her skin like Hellfire, dragging her back to waking. She tried to shift away from it, but it was all around her, pressing into her. She opened her eyes. Nothing but darkness surrounded her, and she inhaled sharply. Her hand brushed against a wall, and it burned. Her neck pressed against a different wall, and her wings pressed against a third wall. They were all around her, closing in on her, and she thrashed, uncaring of how blistered her skin got.

“You’re awake,” a clicking, distorted voice said. “It’s a pleasure, Michael. My name is Duke Eligos. You may remember me as the angel you blinded with starlight and fire in the great war.”

Michael darted her eyes around. They were starting to adjust the darkness, and she could see a small speaker embedded into the wall directly in front of her. It vibrated against her skin as the voice spoke again.

“We call this the blackout box. Humans invented it, actually. A box that’s too small to even move around in, let alone stand.” There was a series of high pitched clicks and Michael realised it was laughter. 

“What are you talking about?” Michael snapped. She jerked her head back and hit the ceiling. “Do you really think that this is going to scare me? I’m a soldier. Nothing you can do to torture me will work. Especially not _human_ torture methods.”

There was a bang against the top of the box and Michael flinched. The metal of the box pressed against her, as if it was growing smaller. It was becoming hot, and each breath she took in tasted stale. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and she began to hyperventilate.

“Of course not,” the voice said, oozing condescension. “The mighty Archangel Michael would never be affected by such pedestrian torture methods. If an enclosed space was all I could offer, I would lose my Dukeship and deserve it. No, there’s more to this blackout box than just darkness, heat, and confinement.” There was a pause before the voice began clicking again. “They play sounds, continuously, for days on end. Not music, but screaming.” 

“Like I’ve never heard screaming,” Michael said through clenched teeth. Her skin was still blistering in an unending cycle of healing and burning. The constant pain was becoming nigh unbearable.

“I like their screams for God.” The voice clicked with each word. “And I’m sure I’ll like yours too.”

A shriek broke the silence, and Michael recoiled. There was another shriek that broke into a scream, and the clicking laughter joined it. She curled into a smaller ball, trying to avoid the cursed metal that threatened to burn her skin. It dragged on, the screaming interspersed with sobbing, and Michael buried her head in her knees. 

“God, why?” the screaming voice wailed, and that awful clicking laughter invaded the box.

Michael tucked her wings against her as best as she could. Still the metal seared her skin and feathers, and demonic miracles repaired her. It grew suffocating, and she was forced to stop her breathing after it became clear she was just breathing in her exhalations and hot air. The screams continued, unending, and Michael broke her nails into her skin. Time seemed to slow and speed up intermittently while she was trapped, unable to so much as twitch now.

Soon, she wasn’t sure whose voice was screaming for God’s mercy - hers or the human’s.

The lid to the box opened and light poured in. It was blinding and Michael closed her eyes out of instinct. A hand carded through her hair and the searing, blistering, burning pain from the metal faded. Even the pain from the ribbons around her wings disappeared and she made a small sound, leaning into the touch. The hand pulled through her hair, banishing any tangles, and rested on her shoulder.

“Ready to play ball?” Lucifer asked.

Michael lifted her head and looked up at him. His red eyes looked down at her, a faint smirk on his face. She nodded once and he held his hand out to her. It was cool against her own, and she grasped with all of her strength as he pulled her out of the box. Her legs wobbled and she collapsed against him, trembling. 

“Poor thing. You must be so tired,” Lucifer said, rubbing her back in small circles. “Want me to carry you?”

A million different responses crowded her lips, but she bit back all of them except for one.

“Yes, master,” Michael whispered, pressing her forehead to his neck. “Please.”

He reached down and scooped her legs out from under her, hooking his arm under her knees. His other arm supported her back, and she clung to his shoulders. Slowly they left the room and the box behind. Michael shifted in his arms and he looked over at her, lifting an eyebrow.

“How long?” she asked.

He hummed and tilted his head. The door swung shut behind them as he walked into his bedchambers. “A week,” he said. “Give or take. I lose track of time.”

He placed her on the bed and she sat up and pulled her legs to her chest. He turned his back to her and she rested her chin on her knees. A week. A week of screaming, begging, and laughter. She shivered as he poured a drink and turned, leaning against his dresser. He studied her, his gaze lingering on her matted hair, and the grime that covered her.

“You’re filthy,” he said with a grimace, and drained his glass. 

With a wave of his hand, the dirt and sweat stuck to her skin vanished. Her hair fell in clean waves again and he smiled. He crooked his finger.

“Come here, sweetheart.”

Michael stood and walked across the room, stopping in front of him. He ran his fingers up and down her neck and roved his eyes over her. His lips curved into a smile and he pulled her forward. The fabric of his shirt was like silk, cool and soothing against her skin. She leaned into it, closing her eyes. Lucifer lifted her chin and leaned forward, pressing their lips together.

His lips were soft, and didn’t blister her, so she leaned into it. Lucifer hummed in approval and kissed her harder, nipping at her bottom lip. Michael parted her lips and teeth, letting his tongue slide into her mouth. His hand smoothed down her cheek and neck, skimming over her collarbones before he pulled away. 

“You’re very good at this game,” Lucifer said before turning her around. “I have some things to teach you, beautiful. If you’re going to be my pet, you’re going to have to follow certain rules. Clasp your hands behind your back and put your feet shoulder width apart.”

Michael closed her eyes and obeyed. It pushed her chest out and he walked around her, trailing his finger along her. It ran along the curve of her breast and she inhaled. He stopped, his hand dropping to his side, a pensive look on his face.

“Am I going to have to put you back in the box?” he asked, his voice like velvet. 

Michael felt the blood drain out of her face. “No,” she said. “No, please.”

“I don’t know, are you sure? I put you in there because you weren’t playing nice. Playing with your claws out.” He tapped her shoulder and she swallowed. “I should put you in there for a month, next time. Take you out when I’m bored, and then put you back in. After that, well, you might be broken enough to fucking do what you’re told!”

He struck her across the face and her head whipped to the side. Her cheek reddened and she kept herself still. He jerked her head back by her hair and pushed his face close to hers.

“Put your hands behind your back, push your chest out, and spread your feet shoulder width apart.”

“Yes, master,” Michael said, and pushed her chest out. 

“Better.”

He walked around her again and stopped behind her, his hands on her shoulders. He rubbed them before moving his hands to her breasts and squeezing them. It sent a little thrill through her and she fought to stay still. This was going to happen no matter what she did, and his hands didn’t hurt. His lips on her neck didn’t burn her, and even felt nice. So she stayed still and let him run his hands down her front and stop between her legs.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “This is pose one. Now, on your knees.”

He pushed at the back of her knees until she knelt, sitting on her feet. She put her hands on her thighs and Lucifer stroked her hair.

“You’re a natural,” he praised. “This is pose two. What was pose one?”

“Standing, feet shoulder width apart, hands behind my back, my chest pushed out,” Michael said automatically.

“Pose three,” he said, walking around to stand in front of her, “is you putting your hands on my hips and opening your mouth.”

She stared up at him, and swallowed. He tapped his foot and she bowed her head, putting her hands on his hips and opening her mouth. Sweat dripped down her neck and she had to stop herself from shaking. It was just a body, she told herself, these were just bodies, corporations adopted so that humans felt more at ease. His fingers carded through her hair as she whispered reassurances to herself, frantic.

“Pose four,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper itself, “requires you to be on the bed. So go, pet.”

“If I go,” she said, her grip on his hips tightening, “will you promise not to put me back in the box?”

Lucifer chuckled. It was poison to her ears.

“If you don’t, I promise I _will_ put you back in the box,” he said.

She went. The sheets rustled as she lay back, staring up at the canopy. His hands slid up her calves, pushing her knees to her chest. His touch was warm and gentle as he took her hands and placed them under her knees. Her legs spread with a touch and Lucifer leaned back, smiling in satisfaction. Michael closed her eyes, humiliated and tired.

“This is pose four,” he said, and Michael jumped at a light touch in between her legs. He ran a finger up and down her slit. “What was pose two?”

“On my knees, my hands on my thighs,” Michael said, and bit her lip. 

His finger was working its way into her, pushing past the outer folds of skin and plundering the small, tight hole. He wiggled it and she flushed, the pleasure like electricity along her nerves. Gold in her veins, she thought, her mind already a little hazy as he curled his finger towards him and rubbed at some swollen part of her.

“Pose one?” he asked, cupping her hip with his other hand.

She opened her mouth to speak and gasped as he pushed another finger into her. It hurt, and she whimpered. Blood seeped into her mouth and she let go of her lower lip. 

It still hurt less than searing metal.

“Standing. Feet shoulder width apart. My hands clasped,” she stopped as he spread his fingers. The simple action sent a powerful shudder through her and she squeezed her eyes shut. “My chest out.”

“I thought poses would be easy for you,” Lucifer murmured. “You’re a soldier, after all, and a good one.” He pushed another finger into her and Michael’s cry was strangled. “Pose four.”

“On my back - ah - with my knees to my chest, my legs spread, and my hands holding my knees,” Michael managed as he pulled his fingers out and pushed them back in.

He looked up from them. His movements were clinical, his expression meandering towards boredom, and Michael swallowed convulsively. She spread her legs wider, and it hurt in a different way as his fingers went deeper. Lucifer’s eyes were bright as he pushed yet another finger into her.

“Pose three,” he said.

Michael mouthed her answer to the air and shuddered. The juxtaposition of pleasure and pain was clouding her thoughts, and she blinked. Lucifer waited, twitching his fingers, smiling. 

“My knees, hands up, mouth open,” she said at last, her voice breaking on the last word. “Please, master, it hurts, you’re hurting me-”

“Not yet, sweetheart,” Lucifer said, pulling his fingers out one by one. “You don’t know what pain is yet.”

He got on the bed and unfastened his pants, letting them fall to his knees. Michael started to sit up and he shook his head, pushing her back onto the bed. His cock was erect, curling towards his stomach, and Michael’s nails dug into her skin.

“Stay in pose four,” he said, almost reverent as he knelt in between her legs. “You’re so good for me, aren’t you, my angel?”

And he pushed into her, his eyelids fluttering shut, and she shut her mind to the sickening sound of flesh on flesh.

Beelzebub reclined in their chair and looked the demon in front of them up and down. “Well?” they asked, leaning back and putting their feet on their desk. “Go ahead. I don’t have all day.”

Dagon smiled mirthlessly. “Yes, you do, my Prince.”

Beelzebub sighed. “What is it, Dagon?”

She slid a file across the desk. Beelzebub took it and looked through it. As they did, Dagon spoke, her voice measured and even.

“It was a mistake to give him so many important missions on Earth,” she said, tapping the desk. A little flying fish chittered and flew over Beelzebub’s head to rest on Dagon’s shoulder. Dagon stroked it with one finger and continued. “He’s run off with an angel.”

“So?” Beelzebub tossed the file onto the desk. “Let him. The war’s over, remember? We don’t need him.”

Dagon waited a beat before speaking. Her voice shook a little, and Beelzebub’s predatory instincts stirred. “He knows everything, my Prince,” she said. “All of our plans.”

“Which are not coming to fruition because the war’s over,” Beelzebub said, rolling their eyes. “Keep up, Dagon.”

“ _All_ of our plans,” Dagon said.

Beelzebub paused and narrowed their eyes. “Even-”

“Helped Hastur and Ligur create the order,” Dagon said. “I told you. Crowley knows everything.”

Beelzebub’s eyes glittered. “So we’ll send someone up to catch him,” they said. “Discreetly. Hastur and Ligur should do well. They know him.”

Dagon nodded and reclaimed her file. Beelzebub turned their attention to their hands, opening and closing them with a frown. The war was over, and the burden of knowing what to do with the millions of demons, dissatisfied with the treaty, fell on their shoulders. Lucifer, as a rule, was horribly single-minded. Once he had a plan, he stuck to it without deviation. And right now, Beelzebub thought with a grimace, his plan was subjugating his old enemy. 

They looked up and met Dagon’s gaze. “You’re still here,” they said. “Business or pleasure?”

“Neither,” Dagon said, and swallowed. “I have a favour to ask.”

Beelzebub’s eyebrows rose. “A favour?” They put their chin on their hands. “This I’d love to hear. What is so important that you’d be willing to owe me something?”

“I want to see her.”

It took Beelzebub a moment to process Dagon’s words. When they did, they snarled and slammed their hands on the table. “Out of the question.”

“Not for a long time,” Dagon said, raising her hands. “Just for a few minutes. I just want to talk to her.”

“It can’t be done,” Beelzebub said, shaking their head. “He doesn’t even plan on letting her out of his room for the first year.”

Something flickered over Dagon’s face, too fleeting for Beelzebub to see, but they frowned nonetheless. Dagon slumped and rested her hands on the desk. Her fingertips almost brushed against Beelzebub’s.

“Just to tell her something,” Dagon said. “That’s it. It won’t even be a minute.”

Beelzebub groaned and held their hands up in surrender. “A minute,” they said, pointing at Dagon. “And nothing more.”

“Nothing more,” Dagon agreed, and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Beelzebub grumbled. “Thank me when you get what you want, and then remember that you’re going to owe me. Big.”

“Any time,” Dagon said, standing. 

She left, and Beelzebub stared into nothing, curling their hands into fists.


	5. Chapter Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexual assault cw, abuse cw, references to torture in this one. Also, some other characters get to play!

Chapter 4:

Lucifer was brushing her hair. He often did, taking his time, brushing over and over until her hair was shining and clean. Most of the time he left it down so that it fanned out under her when he raped her. Sometimes he put it up into a complicated style, something that Michael would never have done on her own. Those times were when he hurt her the most, tormenting her until she begged for him to stop. Then she would have to earn his mercy, and the cycle would repeat itself.

Michael was exhausted, and every time he touched her, she could feel her will slipping away. And so she didn’t resist when he picked up the brush and gestured for her to sit in his lap. His chest was hard and cold against her back, and each brush of his fingers on her filled her with a mixture of dread and arousal. She lost count of the days - the weeks - she spent in his room, enduring his touch.

Right now, his movements were slow, measured, and gentle, working through all of the tangles in her hair. Michael looked down and ran her fingers over the bruises and bites on her skin. It seemed like there wasn’t an inch of her that didn’t bear his marks. He nuzzled her neck, letting her hair fall around his face, and she began to shake.

“Stop shaking,” he murmured, running his hands up and down her arms. “You know how little I like it when you lose control of yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” Michael said, clenching her fists as he licked a stripe up her neck. “I’m trying.”

He growled and squeezed her throat, forcing her head back.

“Am I going to have to put you back in the box?” he asked. “Or am I going to have to make it so that you can’t move at all? Still and silent, unable to so much as twitch. Don’t worry, though, my pretty little thing. I’d let you feel all the pleasure I bring you.”

He snapped his fingers and her muscles stiffened. Lucifer pushed her off of him with a chuckle and she fell to the bed. He loomed over her and all she could do was wait. 

There was a knock and he turned his head, pausing with his hand on his waistband. Michael gasped in air as her muscles unfroze. Lucifer stood, ignoring her, and waved his hand. A dress settled on her, warm and soft. It was tight, but it covered her arms and her neck, and she hugged herself. Her legs were covered by tights and knee high boots that ended in hooves. It was better than the near constant state of nudity Lucifer forced her into. She ran her hands over her arms until she caught him staring at her. He crooked his finger and Michael rose from the bed and stood next to him as the door opened.

“My Lord,” Beelzebub said as they entered. They knelt before Lucifer, their head bowed. “I’m so sorry to disturb you, but I have no choice. I have important news.”

Michael risked a glance at Beelzebub. Their eyes were an all too familiar shade of red. Michael’s stomach twisted, and she looked away. Lucifer put his arm around her and pulled her against his side. His fingers curled on her hip, and she trembled. Such a casual indication of ownership, she thought, and felt like she was drowning.

“Indeed,” Lucifer said, his voice low. “I did give the order not to disturb me. What could possibly be so important, my prince?”

“It’s about Crowley,” Beelzebub said, rising from their knees. “He’s run off with an angel.”

Michael looked up, widening her eyes. An angel, running off with a demon? It was unheard of, and her mind raced, trying to pick out who would dare to betray Heaven. She came up empty and tightened her grip around her arms. Would it destroy the truce she traded her soul to create?

Lucifer laughed. “Let him,” he said. “He outlived his usefulness a long time ago. Besides, the war is over. He can run off with whomever he wishes.” He smiled at Michael, rubbing his thumb on her hip bone. She looked down, her heart pounding, and could feel his eyes on her as he continued. “If that’s all you came in to say, Prince Beelzebub, I am highly displeased.”

“It’s not.” Beelzebub’s voice was flat. “Lord Dagon of the Files has found that Crowley has had a hand in all of our plans from the beginning.” They waited a beat. “ _All of them_.”

“You mean-” Lucifer said, and stopped. 

The pressure in the room shifted and Michael’s hand went to her throat as the air burned. She looked up and recoiled; Lucifer’s face was wavering, flashes of a monstrous visage breaking through. His hand by his side was red and clawed, and the ghostly image of leathery wings the length of the room sprouted from his back. Beelzebub’s shoulders were hunched, their head lowered, hands clasped in front of them. Michael’s eyes were locked on Lucifer, torn between desperately wanting to look away and not being able.

“Find him,” Lucifer hissed, his voice distorted. He passed a hand through his hair, gathering himself. He was human shaped again, but there was a hint of fire and brimstone in the curl of his hair. “Do whatever it takes to bring him down here. Alive.”

“Alive?” Beelzebub said, looking up. Lucifer took a step forward and they took a step back. “Alive,” they agreed. They shifted from foot to foot, and Lucifer sighed.

“Is there any other news?” he asked.

“A request,” Beelzebub said, looking over at Michael. 

Michael flinched, wrapping her wings around herself. Lucifer walked around her, sliding his fingertips along her feathers as he went.

“What request?” he asked.

“Lord Dagon requests a reward for her information,” Beelzebub said.

“Does she?” Lucifer murmured. “Give her a Dukedom, then. Duke of the Files.”

“She wants to speak to the prisoner,” Beelzebub said. 

Michael lowered her uppermost wings and stared at Beelzebub. They were staring straight ahead at Lucifer, their tone careful and just casual enough to bely the tension in the room. A bead of sweat was running down their forehead and Michael swallowed. The heat and pressure in the room was starting to come back as Lucifer stopped behind her. He played with the ribbons on her wings as the silence grew, and Michael slipped into a trance.

She wanted to stay. She wanted to be his, only his.

“She aims too high,” Lucifer said at last, shattering the trance, leaving Michael feeling cold. “Tell her to pick something else.”

“It’s only for a minute,” Beelzebub said, taking a step forward. “Lord Dagon was instrumental in the battles leading up to the treaty. It’s not unreasonable to give her a reward for all of her work.”

“So it is reasonable for me to share my prize?” Lucifer asked, leaning forward. Michael’s breath came in short, quick gasps as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “Fine,” he said abruptly. “She can have Michael for an hour.”

Beelzebub’s shoulders eased, and they even smiled. Michael closed her eyes, feeling relief flood her. An hour out of Lucifer’s grasp. Maybe, just for a little while, she would be safe. As safe as she could be, anyway. Michael knew how to handle Dagon.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Beelzebub said, taking a knee again.

“Of course,” Lucifer whispered for Michael alone, his words a breath on her ear, “if I would be willing to hurt you, to take you as I see fit, what would someone with less control over themselves do?” 

He tugged on a ribbon, and fear filled her. Visions of Dagon pinning her down and raping her came to her mind. Dagon would torture her, Michael realised. Dagon would torture her worse than Lucifer, and she started to shake. 

“Here,” Lucifer said, placing his hand on Michael’s collar and pulling away. A long, golden chain hung from the ring in the middle of her collar and he handed it to Beelzebub. “One hour.”

“Now, my Lord?” Beelzebub asked.

Lucifer chuckled. “Now,” he said, giving Michael a small push in the middle of her back. “Have fun, my darling.”

She stumbled forward and caught herself, turning back to him. He smiled, slow, measured, and sharp. Her plea for mercy stuck in her throat, and she bowed her head. 

“Yes, master,” she said, and allowed Beelzebub to lead her from the room.

Ligur was a creature of darkness and invisibility, and he hid in between dimensions, watching the hallway for his target. He knew the dread figure of Eligos anywhere, and when the shambling, eyeless demon came walking down the hall, Ligur stepped out of the pocket dimension and stood in front of Eligos. He eyed the taller demon with distaste, letting the silence stretch before finally speaking.

“I know you’ve had contact with her.”

Ligur leaned against the wall, blocking the path. Eligos made a clicking noise, teeth meeting in a gruesome display. 

“I’m afraid I have no idea what you mean,” he said. The words came out of the gash in his neck that served as his mouth. “You’ll have to be more specific. I have a lot of contact with a lot of different ‘hers’.”

“Michael,” Ligur said, keeping his voice low and threatening. 

Eligos laughed, the clicking putting Ligur’s hair on end. “It is of no business to you,” he said, sweeping a hand through the air. It wasn’t his. “And you should be addressing me with my title, Viscount Ligur.”

Ligur smiled unpleasantly. “You’ve been in your caves for too long, Eligos. I’m Duke Ligur now.”

Eligos turned his head to Ligur and tilted it. He had no eyes, no nose, and no mouth, just smooth, unbroken skin. There was a ragged gash on his neck, and as Ligur watched, Eligos opened the gash and ran his tongue along it. Fangs the size of Ligur’s fingers rotted there, poisonous decay dripping from them. He was a putrid, sick creature, dragged from the deeper reaches of Hell.

“Duke Ligur,” he said, as if tasting the words. “Fascinating. That still doesn’t entitle you to question me about the will of our Lord.” Eligos started to advance, stumbling, hands held out in front of him, seeking.

Ligur held out his arm and Eligos’ hands wrapped around it. Ligur’s arm became frigid, dropping below recorded temperatures as he lifted his eyebrows and waited. After a few moments, Eligos hissed and snatched his hands back, rubbing his palms together. The skin that stuck to Ligur fell onto the ground and shrivelled.

“You’re as disgusting as ever,” Ligur said, eyeing the disappearing pieces of skin. “You’ve seen Michael.”

“Seen is not the right word,” Eligos answered with a grin, his lipless mouth dripping poison. “I’ve _heard_ her. You’ve been selfish, Duke Ligur. Keeping her screams all to yourself.”

Ligur’s smile widened, baring his teeth. “Where is she?”

“With our Lord,” Eligos said, sliding around Ligur’s outstretched arm. “In his rooms, I would imagine. He’s taken such a fancy with her, as of late.”

Ligur clenched his fist. Eligos turned his head downward and brought a hand up under his mouth. He clasped Ligur’s shoulder, as if they were friends.

“You’re jealous,” Eligos said, the words oozing from him. “Dear little demon, didn’t anyone ever tell you that emotions are dangerous?” He straightened to his full height, and then higher, his torso and legs elongating. Soon he towered over Ligur, a full metre taller. 

Ligur didn’t blink. “Jealousy isn’t the right word,” he said, mocking. “I’m concerned about our Lord losing sight of our goals.”

Eligos laughed, a series of clicks that put Ligur on edge. “Don’t worry about that,” Eligos said. “Our goals are his goals, and I can promise you, his goals are being met. After all, Duke Ligur, I’m not the only one to make her scream.”

Ligur drew his fist back, channeling his fury, and would have thrown the punch, but someone grabbed his wrist and held it firm. Ligur turned, a snarl on his lips. It died when he was met with Hastur’s black eyes. He relaxed, and Hastur released him, standing beside him.

“What’s going on here?” Hastur asked, glaring at Eligos. “Shouldn’t you be in the pits, you spineless worm?”

Eligos hissed, revealing his dagger like teeth. “I don’t answer to lesser demons like you,” he said. “Our Lord gave me special permission to return to the surface of Hell.”

“And I’m telling you to go back, before we make you,” Hastur said, taking a step forward. The air around him wavered as he lifted a finger. “Or do I have to remind you why we’re up here, and you’re wasting away, nothing but a relic of the past?”

Eligos hunched, returning to his normal height, and shook his head. “No, Duke Hastur,” he said. 

The amount of hatred in his tone was almost impressive, Ligur thought. Almost.

“Then go,” Ligur said, his eyes glowing red. “Run along, old, decrepit thing, back into the pits of Hell.”

Eligos turned and left, blindly walking through the halls. Ligur watched until he was out of sight before sighing and turning to face Hastur.

“I could have handled him,” Ligur said, folding his arms.

Hastur snorted. “Of course you could have,” he said, his tone laden with sarcasm. “It wasn’t like he knew your weak spot at all.”

Ligur scowled and looked away. “What is it?” he asked instead.

“We have work,” Hastur said, pulling a piece of paper out of his coat. A maggot crawled along, and he flicked it away. “Orders from our Lord himself.”

Ligur glanced down at the paper and lifted his eyebrows. “We’re leaving Hell, then?” he asked, tossing the paper over his shoulder. It burned, the ashes falling to the ground. “Convenient,” he said. “When do we leave?”

“We’re supposed to leave right away,” Hastur said, fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out a cigarette and Ligur leaned forward, lighting it with Hellfire. Hastur gave a terse smile as thanks and blew out a cloud of smoke.

“I want to see her,” Ligur said, and Hastur closed his eyes. “I know,” he said, before Hastur could say anything. “But she’s-”

“Don’t say it,” Hastur said, lifting up a hand. “If you understand that he’s sending us away, then you know that you can’t see her. He’ll _kill_ you, Ligur.”

“I always loved an element of danger,” Ligur said with a grin.

Hastur frowned at him. “I’m not going to help you get killed,” he said, and grimaced. “Least of all for an angel, of all things.”

Ligur clamped down on his rising temper and started to walk down the hall. “You don’t have to help, then,” he said through clenched teeth. “I’ll do it myself.” He waited a beat before speaking again, letting some of his hurt leach out into his words. “I thought you were her friend, too.”

“Demons and angels aren’t friends,” Hastur said flatly. He fell into pace with Ligur, his cigarette held between his teeth. “We worked together, that’s all. She would have killed us in a second if she didn’t have a use for us. You were the one who always got attached.”

Ligur scowled. “What do you expect me to do, Hastur?”

Hastur finished his cigarette and threw it to the ground. He ground it out and reached for another one. “Would it be too much to ask that you don’t do anything, and forget about her?” he asked. “Just come with me, and we’ll go up to Earth and continue to torment humanity? Like the old days.”

Ligur looked away. “You know it can’t be like that again,” he said. “We’re beholden to him now.”

“I know,” Hastur said. He was silent for a long minute, moving the cigarette up and down. “You’re not going to leave it alone, are you?” he asked, looking at Ligur out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you really think I would?” Ligur asked.

“Come on,” Hastur said, jerking his head and turning on his heel. “I know where she is.”

Michael put a box of files on the shelf in front of her and rested her head against the cool metal. Somewhere behind her, Dagon was shuffling through different files. The preternatural silence between them was unbroken, and hung around Michael like a shroud. She waited for Dagon to speak, or to start hurting her, and as the minutes ticked by, her anxiety grew. 

Dagon passed close behind her, and Michael recoiled, shrinking in on herself. Dagon stopped, and studied Michael, running her eyes over her. Michael swallowed and looked down at her feet, clasping her hands in front of her. After a long moment, Dagon turned away with a sigh.

“It’s just files, Michael,” she said, sounding bored. “Paperwork. It’s not going to hurt you.”

Michael nodded, her hands beginning to shake. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ll work faster.”

Dagon grunted, already absorbed in another file. Michael turned back to the boxes and began sorting through another one. There were files on various demons in Hell and Michael’s hand paused over Ligur’s. It would be okay to take a small peak, she rationalised to herself. If she was going to get out of Hell-

Her train of thought shuddered to a halt as she thought about the punishment she would receive if she tried to escape. Michael told herself to put the folder back, and drew it out of the box instead. She looked back at Dagon, her heart pounding, as she began to read. 

_Ligur: An elder deity from the continent of Mu, he was once an angel. Like every other demon, he fell from grace, and transformed into a dragon-like creature. He swore fealty to Satan and was given a viscountcy after the fall of man. His previous name is unknown. His allegiance to our dark Lord Lucifer is unwavering, and yet Ligur has a tendency to form bonds with other demons and, on one occasion, an angel._

_Our dark Lord Lucifer has requested that the bond between Ligur and the Archangel Michael be monitored-_

“What are you doing?” Dagon demanded, snatching the file from Michael’s hands. “You’re not supposed to be reading that. I told you to sort the files, and that was all.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are you spying?”

Michael shrank in on herself, shaking her head frantically. “No, no, I’m not,” she said. “I’m sorry, I was just - I was just curious. I don’t know why I did it. Please, don’t tell him.” She clasped Dagon’s hands, eyes wide. “Please,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, I’ll do anything.”

She dropped to her knees and put her hands on her knees, assuming the second pose she’d been taught. She kept her head down, her eyes locked on Dagon’s feet, and her wings folded tight against her body. The silence stretched between them and Michael’s trembling grew worse. Dagon was going to hurt her, or worse, was going to tell Lucifer, and then he was going to hurt her. Tears filled her eyes and she blinked them away.

Lucifer didn’t like it when she cried.

“What happened to you?” Dagon asked, breaking the silence. She stepped forward and tilted Michael’s head up. 

Their eyes met and Michael saw a mixture of pity and fury before she jerked away and hugged herself. Dagon was staring at her neck, a frown on her face, and Michael’s hands flew to her collar and pulled it up. Her knuckles brushed a bruise and she winced.

“It’s nothing,” Michael said, turning her head away. “Nothing that concerns you, anyway,” she added with a rush of anger, and then covered her mouth. “Please,” she said, her voice a whisper. “Forgive me. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“You don’t have to apologise for snapping at me,” Dagon said, kneeling before Michael. She took Michael’s hands and pried them away from the collar of the dress. “I like when you snap at me.”

Dagon tugged the collar down and paused, her eyes flashing. The bruises and bite marks, Michael knew, stood out a bright gold against her skin. She closed her eyes with shame as Dagon reached up and traced the outline of one of the bites. She pressed in on a bruise and Michael trembled, but bit back her whimper.

“What has he done to you?” Dagon asked.

Michael opened her eyes and lifted her head. Dagon was scowling, her sharp fangs biting into her lower lip. Black ichor dripped down her chin, and without thinking, Michael reached out and brushed it away. She paused, her hand on Dagon’s chin, and remembered a different time with a stir of longing.

“Remember the first time we fought?” Dagon asked, not moving a muscle. “You tried to kill me, before declaring that you weren’t at all a murderer, and then settled for cutting my arm off.”

Michael nodded, wincing. “Sorry,” she whispered, and her lips twitched. “You got back at me, though,” she added. “You managed to disembowel me, at one point.”

“Then you bit my ear off,” Dagon said, touching her ear. “You’re a fighter,” she continued, and Michael flinched. “Why are you still here, Michael?”

“I signed the treaty,” Michael said, playing with the ends of her hair. “If I break it, my siblings will die. Heaven will be burned to the ground.”

“Why are you still _here_?” Dagon asked again, leaning forward and taking Michael’s hands. “The Michael I know would be running Hell by now.”

“He’s too strong,” Michael said. “I’m not strong enough, I tried, Dagon. I tried, but he-” she shuddered. “He locked me in the dark, and then he came back, and I had no choice. He’s stronger than me. He beat me.”

“He-” Dagon started, and then tensed. 

She got to her feet and turned as someone rushed forward and pinned her to the wall by her neck. Michael stood, backing away from the snarling demons, until she was against the wall. Ligur had his hand raised, poised to strike Dagon’s chest, and Hastur gripped his wrist.

“What did you do to her?” Ligur snarled.

“I _didn’t_ ,” Dagon said, prying his fingers off of her neck. Her feet hit the ground with a thud and she backed away from him. “I was as surprised as you are, Ligur.”

Michael put her arms around herself and shook. “You can’t be here,” she whispered. “He doesn’t want me to see you. He’ll hurt me. He’ll put me back in the box, and I can’t go back there, I can’t.” She backed away from them, ignoring their wide eyed stares.

“Michael, wait,” Ligur said, holding out a hand. “Wait.”

Michael shook her head and pushed past the three of them, running out of the room, and through Hell, blinded by fear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All references to the continent of Mu and Ligur being an elder god are referencing the Lloigor from Lovecraftian horror. Look them up, they're pretty terrifying in their own right.
> 
> Eligos is loosely based on the Pale Man from Pan's Labyrinth, and in this story, is the Duke of Torments.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for rape, sexual assault, and threats of torture. Some angst in here, as well, and reimagined scenes.

Michael wandered through Hell, her eyes glazed over. Everything blurred together. Her hand slid along the damp walls and her bare feet stuck in places. Somewhere her boots and stockings would be lying on the ground, abandoned. Michael wasn’t sure where they were, or why she had taken them off. She vaguely remembered tripping on them, and kicking them off in her dash to escape being in the same room as Ligur. No doubt she would pay for that later, and she almost turned around to fetch them.

Instead she kept walking, and ended up knocking her knees against stairs. She looked down at the stone, uncomprehending, before looking up. At the very top of the stairs was light, shining white. Fresh air blew past her face and she closed her eyes, savouring the feeling. Earth was up there, and above that, Heaven. It was so close, and if she just took a step forward, she could leave. She could run, and hide, and never have to deal with his hands on her again. Heaven would fall, and she would be alone, but she could be safe. She could be free of Lucifer.

Michael’s bare foot rested on the first step when someone grabbed her arm and jerked her back. She stumbled, jolting out of her reverie, and looked up at her assailant. Cool, moss green eyes looked back down at her. They were set in a handsome face, one that looked vaguely familiar. Blonde hair fell to his shoulders, fine and thin, shining in the light. Michael swallowed and pulled away from him, taking a step back.

“Look what I found,” he said, green eyes glowing as he walked a tight circle around her. “A little lost kitten, poking her nose where she shouldn’t be.” He stopped and grabbed her wrist, squeezing. “Your master is looking for you, precious.”

“Let go of me,” Michael said, tugging on her wrist. Her freedom was so close, she could almost taste it, all she had to do was break free and run. 

The demon tightened his grip and yanked her closer. “I don’t think so, sweetie. You’ve got no right to order me, and no power to back it up.” He chuckled and put his other arm around her back. “You wouldn’t do well out there, trust me. The world of humans is cruel, and you seem so fragile. Let me take care of you.”

Michael looked back at the stairs, before her shoulders slumped and she nodded once. “I’m sorry,” she said, turning away from freedom to face the demon before her. “I got lost.”

“Of course you did,” he said, loosening his grip on her wrist. “You’re lucky I’ve come to your rescue, little kitten. What would you have done if you went outside? It would have been so terrifying for you.” He tilted her head up to his. “I’ll be happy to bring you back to your master,” he murmured, “for a kiss.”

Michael’s blood froze in her veins. Lucifer’s warning echoed, and she felt like the walls were closing in on her.

What would someone with less control over themselves do?

“I-” Michael started and he put a finger to her lips.

“I won’t tell him,” he said, tracing the outline of her mouth with his fingertip. “It’ll be our little secret, and you’ll be back in his arms in no time.”

Michael looked to the darkness of Hell, her heart hammering. The ribbons at the base of her wings burned steadily, and she closed her eyes. Lucifer would be so furious with her, she thought. But it would be worse if she didn’t do whatever she had to so that she was back where she belonged.

So she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the side of the demon’s mouth, trying not to shudder. His skin was cold and clammy, and she pulled back an instant later. His free hand threaded through her hair and held her in place while he kissed her, forcing his tongue down her throat. Shame and rage warred in her stomach as he pressed their bodies together. She endured it for another moment before pushing him off of her, incandescent with fury.

The demon smirked and wiped his mouth. “I see what the fuss is all about now,” he all but purred. “You know, we would make an excellent team. The Archangel Michael, and the Marquis Leraje of Hell.”

“A team?” Michael echoed. 

He just smiled and took her hand. They walked through the halls, Michael looking down at the ground, feeling like she was in the box again. The walls seemed to be closing in around her, burning, searing, trapping her. Before she knew it, they were in front of the door to her prison, and she started to shake.

“My Lord,” the demon said, placing his hand on the door. “I’ve found her.” 

* * *

Ariel looked down at the comatose bodies of her siblings. Their chests rose and fell as ventilators worked to keep them alive. She passed a hand over Gabriel’s face and bowed her head.

“Ariel,” Raphael said, sweeping into the room with a transparent, computerized pad in his hands. “You don’t need to keep a constant vigil over them.”

“Someone needs to be here when they wake up,” Ariel said, looking to Sandalphon. “Have you found any way to wake them up yet?”

Raphael sighed and looked at the array of complicated machines. His eyes were swirling nebulas, and they were almost impossible to read. Ariel perched on the edge of Uriel’s bed, holding her sister’s hand, watching Raphael move about the room. There was a tense quality to the air, and Ariel ran her fingers over the hilt of Michael’s sword.

“Raph,” she said, “what’s going on?”

Raphael put down his clipboard and exhaled. “I don’t think this is a natural coma,” Raphael said. 

He pulled back the blanket covering Sandalphon, revealing that he was dressed in a hospital gown. Raphael pulled the gown’s neckline over to show Sandalphon’s shoulder. Ariel leaned closer, and looked up at him.

“What am I supposed to see?” 

“There’s a pinprick there,” Raphael said, pointing to it. “The same on Uriel as well. But on Gabriel, it’s in a different spot. His arm.”

Ariel blinked and looked down at the three comatose bodies. “They were drugged,” she said, her eyes widening.

“I think so,” Raphael said. “But why is Gabriel’s in a different spot? I can’t figure it out.”

“If they were drugged,” Ariel said, grinning, “then you can reverse it, can’t you? And we can get Michael back.”

Raphael was silent, his star like eyes glazed over in thought. “If I can figure out what’s in their system, then yes,” he said, almost reluctantly. “But how did it get there, Ariel? And why hasn’t it responded to any of the treatments I’ve been trying?”

Ariel stared down at her comatose siblings and crossed her arms. Unease filled her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. “What are we going to do, Raph?”

“I don’t know,” Raphael said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “But we’re going to have faith, Ariel. We’ll fix this, and we’ll wake them up.”

Ariel ran her fingers over the hilt of the sword and nodded once. “And then Michael can come home.” 

* * *

“Come in.”

The door opened before Michael and the demon. He pushed her through and she fell to her knees. The interior of the room had changed again. The bed was gone, replaced by a throne on a raised platform. To one side were instruments of torture, and to the other was an opening in the floor. Michael stopped breathing when she saw it. It was small, and there was a piece of the floor that sat to the side, ready to seal the opening again. She could almost feel the walls closing in, hear the screams, and began to shake.

“My Lord,” the demon said, kneeling beside Michael. “I thank you for the honour of seeing your face. It is truly a magnificent vessel that you have chosen for yourself.”

“Spare me the pleasantries, Marquis Leraje,” Lucifer said curtly. “Where was she?”

Michael dared to look over at him. He was seated in the throne, one leg crossed over the other. He propped his head up on his fist, eyes glittering as they looked her over. He was appraising her, she realised. Making sure there was no damage. She met his gaze and his expression shuttered, his mouth a grim line as he looked away from her.

“She was by the stairs,” Leraje said, grinning at her. His green eyes grew wide with false concern as he leaned towards Lucifer, spreading his arms. “She was all alone, shoeless and scared. She was actually going to try and climb the steps!”

“Was she, now?” Lucifer’s voice was dark, and carried just a hint of cruel amusement. “We can’t have that, can we?”

He snapped his fingers, and a chain appeared in his hand. It connected to Michael’s collar, a long, glittering, golden lead that bound her to him. She reached up to touch it, and snatched her hand away with a hiss of pain. It was demonic, and she stared at it, watching the runes glow. 

Lucifer yanked it towards him, and Michael fell to her hands and knees. “It’s very lucky that you found her, Marquis,” he said. “I do worry about our... Guest. There’s so many tricky twists and turns in Hell, she may have gotten lost, and we’d never find her again.”

“Exactly,” Leraje said, still kneeling. “I’d hate to see you lose your treasured pet so soon.”

Lucifer just smiled. “You deserve a reward. Rise, my Marquis.”

As Leraje rose to his feet, Lucifer turned his attention to Michael. She trembled under the force of his stare, cycling through all of the options available to her. The empty space in the floor was almost calling to her and the beginnings of tears filled her eyes.

“As for you,” he said, his voice deceptively soft, “you weren’t trying to run away, were you, princess?”

Michael shook her head, her heart pounding. “No, master, I wouldn’t.”

“Of course not,” he said. “That would be breaking the rules of our contract, and you never break the rules, do you?”

“No, master.”

“Did you want a walk?” Lucifer asked, a cruel smile on his face. “More… exercise?”

“Yes,” Michael said, relief flooding her at the mercy of an excuse. “Yes, a walk, that’s what I wanted-”

“Well, now we can go on walks whenever you like, pet,” Lucifer said, rattling the chain. “All you have to do is ask nicely.”

“Thank you, master,” Michael whispered, looking back at the opening in the floor.

“So, your reward, Marquis Leraje,” Lucifer said, turning back to the demon. “Sweetheart, pose three.”

Michael rose onto her knees and put her hands in the air, waist height, and opened her mouth. Leraje looked between her and Lucifer before his eyes lit up. He stood in front of Michael and put her hands on his hips and started to fumble with his trousers.

“Of course,” Lucifer said from the throne, “since you are such a good girl, pet, you’ll do this without hesitation. Won’t you?”

Michael closed her eyes. She could feel Lucifer staring at her through Leraje, and she kept her mouth open, her mind racing. There was no way she could move back without ending up in the box again, so she stayed still and waited. Leraje’s fingers rested on her lower lip, and his trousers fell to the ground, brushing the tip of her nose as they went. Something else brushed the tip of her nose, and her blood drained from her face as it pushed at her mouth, seeking entrance.

_He can’t let this happen, he can’t, he won’t,_ Michael thought wildly, and as the tip of Leraje’s cock pushed past her lips, she cracked and sobbed once.

“Enough,” Lucifer said, his voice cracking like a whip. “Leraje, leave.”

Michael opened her eyes and looked away from Leraje and at Lucifer. His pupils were dilated, and his knuckles white around the arms of his throne. The lust in the air was almost palpable, and as Leraje took a hurried step back and fixed himself. Michael placed her hands on her knees and lowered her head. All she could feel was relief, and gratitude. Gratitude that he stopped, that he kept her for himself.

Leraje brushed past her with a look of longing. The door closed behind him and she looked up, staring at Lucifer through her bangs.

“Come here,” he said, and pulled on the chain. 

Michael began to stand and his lips twisted into a smirk. He yanked on the chain and she stumbled to her knees, scraping them on the floor. With her wings tucked against her back, and her head kept low, Michael crawled to his feet on all fours. He pulled her up, and up more, until she was in his lap and her face was an inch from his. 

“I should put you in that box again,” he murmured, his fingers trailing along her cheek as he tucked her hair behind her ear. “Maybe for a century, this time. I could use a nap.” He clicked his tongue and leaned back. “Then again, you do make for such a beautiful piece of art to look at. It would be a shame to hide you.”

He worked at the front of her dress, ripping it in half with excruciating slowness. His other hand smoothed along her back, gathering the ribbons as he went. No words were required of her, and so Michael said nothing as his nail cut the material around her breasts. He looked down and licked his lips. A shiver ran through her as he brushed the swell of her breasts with his nail, and he gathered the last of the ribbons in his other hand.

“Why would you want to leave?” he asked, moving his lips to her ear.

His chest pressed against hers, and his heat enveloped her. Eight large, feathery wings sprung from his back, a mottled mockery of her own, and wrapped around them. Michael squirmed back and he pulled her closer by the chain, forcing her flush against him. His voice was low, soft, and comforting, and she slipped into a dizzying trance.

“Here, you’re safe. I provide for you. I protect you.” He kept sliding his nail down her front, parting her dress like a sea. “Like the treasure you are, I make sure nothing bad happens to you. Nothing that you wouldn’t enjoy, anyway. You don’t have to be the warrior for me, darling. You don’t have to fight anymore.”

“Don’t have to fight,” Michael echoed. The warmth was spreading from her extremities to her core, invading her senses, and she rested her forehead in the hollow of his neck. How was it that she never noticed how perfectly they fit together? It was like she’d found her missing piece.

“I’ll pamper you, and pet you, and pleasure you,” he breathed in her ear. His nail dragged along the slit of her cunt and she keened, pressing her lips to his neck.

How had she never noticed how wonderful he felt against her? There were little sparks running down her spine, and she arched her back as he pushed his finger into her. She spread her legs and licked a stripe up his neck. He tasted of cinnamon and cloves, and she moaned, lost in his touch.

“All you have to do is behave,” he said, and it was like he was very far away. “Behave and be mine.”

Then he kissed her, and Michael’s will shriveled into nothing and disappeared. The only thing that existed for her was Lucifer, and the way he felt under her hands, and against her body, and inside of her. The ribbons glowed, brighter than the lights in the room, before dimming to a permanent glow, all of the runes alight.


	7. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CWs for this chapter are mind control, violence, and rape.
> 
> A chapter without Michael - letting everyone else have a turn.
> 
> Thanks to anyone who is reading :)

“I’m telling you, angel,” Crowley said, sprawling on the couch, a glass of wine precariously held by his fingertips. “They’re onto us. That last time, they almost got us.”

“Yes, the hellhounds were rather vicious,” Aziraphale said. He was looking between two books, and made a face. “Crowley, truly, couldn’t you find something a bit better? Pulp fiction?”

“It came recommended by the very nice employee at the bookstore, angel,” Crowley said. He took a sip of his wine. “Seriously, though. I never thought I’d say this, but Hastur and Ligur are actually good at their job.”

He drained his glass of wine and placed it on the table. It left a smudge and Aziraphale frowned at it. He picked it up and placed one of the paperback novels under it. Crowley looked at the cover of it and grimaced. Aziraphale was right; the bare-chested, white man on the cover, and the scantily clad woman in his arms, was cliched at best.

“I can get you some better books,” Crowley said, swinging his legs down. “Misprinted bibles, provided that I never have to touch them. Blessed things, bibles. You understand.”

Aziraphale’s lips curved up into a smile. “It would be nice,” he said. “I do miss my bookshop. I had irreplaceable first editions, and some new books I just purchased that I would have loved to catalogue. Do you know, I think it was from the middle ages.”

Crowley propped his chin on his hands and smiled at Aziraphale. “Do you know,” he said, “you’re incredibly adorable, angel?” He grimaced and darted his tongue out. “I can’t believe I just said _adorable_.”

Aziraphale paused and turned a bright red. “My dear,” he sputtered. “I - I just-”

“What were the books called?” Crowley asked, standing and dusting off his pants. “I’ll go get them.”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, in a tone of voice that let Crowley know he was almost in trouble, “that would be too much. As you said, we’re being hunted. Wouldn’t they notice if you went back to my bookshop? I don’t want you to be hurt.”

“Nothing could hurt me right now,” Crowley said, but he gave in and reached for a cloth bag instead. “I’ll grab us some tea, and get you better books, then. How does that sound?”

Aziraphale placed his hand over Crowley’s, and Crowley looked up. The raw, naked worry in Aziraphale’s eyes was like staring into the sun. Crowley looked away again and cleared his throat, trying to tell his nerves to stop, it was just a look, it meant nothing. Still, his heart did annoying flops in his chest, and he could feel the blood rushing to his cheeks, making them tinged with black. Just another way he wasn’t good enough for his angel, he thought, resentfully. Just another demon, another pawn of Lucifer’s.

The thought was ice cold holy water down his spine, and he shivered.

“Are you positive they can’t find you?” Aziraphale asked.

“Positive, angel,” Crowley said with more cheer than he could muster. “Forget what I said. It’s Ligur and Hastur. They couldn’t catch a paper bag if it was right in front of their faces. I’ll be fine. If they get close, I’ll make like the snake I am and slither off into the bushes.”

“Why are they after you, Crowley?”

Crowley swallowed. He looked away, a vessel in his jaw pulsing. He sucked air through his teeth and tilted his head back, arranging the perfect scowl on his face. “Who knows,” he said, forcing his tone to remain neutral. “I must have outlived my usefulness to Satan.” He glared at the glass of wine again. “Either that, or Hastur and Ligur have decided to settle an old score.”

“They wouldn’t chase you for three months if they were trying to settle an old score,” Aziraphale said. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Crowley felt his carefully crafted facade unravelling. “I know when you’re lying, my dear. Please. Tell me.”

“You know what Satan did to me?” Crowley said, flicking his gaze away from Aziraphale’s blue eyes to stare at the wall. “He can’t feel guilt, but he did ensure that I had a hand in any important operation Hell carried out. If an Archangel’s plan needed to be foiled, I’d be there. If Jesus needed to be tempted, I’d be there. My guess? One of those was more top-secret and important than the other, and I have information that could be very interesting to Heaven.”

Aziraphale pulled his hands free. “But you have no idea what it could be?”

“Angel, it doesn’t matter what it is,” Crowley said. “We can outrun them. We can outpace them. Eventually, they’ll get bored and give up.”

“And if they don’t?” Aziraphale asked, voicing the concern hovering between them.

Crowley turned to the door and opened it. “I don’t know,” he said, before stepping outside and closing the door behind him.

* * *

_“What did you do?” Ligur snarled._

_His words were directed at Dagon, but his eyes were on the exit, as if by staring hard enough, he could bring Michael back. Dagon clenched her teeth and shoved him backwards, hard. He stumbled a few steps, and she was about to keep up with the attack when Hastur slammed her against the wall, his hand around her neck._

_“Don’t,” he said, his voice low and heavy with threat as Dagon began to pull on her demonic power._

_She stopped and he loosened his grip fractionally. Ligur looked at Dagon and at the exit, torn. Dagon rolled her eyes and cleared her throat, lifting her eye ridges. Hastur loosened his grip more and Dagon was able to swallow again. Breath hissed through the small hole he left her, but Dagon did not dare ask for more._

_“I didn’t do that, if that’s what you’re wondering,” she said. “This is the first time I’ve seen her since she came down here, just like you.”_

_“Why did she run?” Ligur said, looking at Dagon at last._

_His eyes were whirling, flashing between colours every second. Dagon held his gaze, waiting a few beats before she spoke, pounding each word into submission._

_“Lucifer broke her.”_

_Silence reigned; Ligur’s expression flickered between distraught and furious. Hastur released Dagon and she stepped away as fast as she could, rubbing her throat. Ligur shook his head, his voice raw with emotion as he spoke._

_“He couldn’t.”_

_Dagon let the words hang in the air between them._

_“He couldn’t,” Ligur said again. “She’s the bloody General of Heaven. Nothing’s supposed to be able to break her. S’why they call her the Invincible Prince, isn’t it? Sword of the Almighty, and all that rot.” His voice cracked on the last few words. “Not once did she ever break in front of me, ever. Not even when she saw one of her own fall. Not even when-”_

_He cut himself off, swallowing visibly. Dagon closed her eyes in shared pain, at the emotions stirring inside of her. Every movement of Michael’s was slow, careful, designed to make herself as small and non-threatening a target as possible. There were dark, golden bruises and bite marks along her neck, and Dagon could imagine where else they were. It was a cursed thing, imagination. It allowed Dagon to imagine every moment of Michael’s captivity for the last month. A captivity from which Dagon made no move to save her._

_That began to eat at her, and from the stricken look on Ligur’s face, he felt the same. Dagon felt a stir of jealousy in her, and turned towards the filing cabinet. She bit out words that she knew she would regret._

_“You never raped and tortured her.”_

_She could hear the sharp intake of breath as the words hit Ligur, and wrath filled the room. It was a thick, heavy cloud, tingeing everything red. She half expected it to strangle her, or to turn around and see an after-image of a long dead deity, serpentine and foul. Instead, she heard Hastur cough and shift._

_“We need Crowley’s file,” he said._

_Dagon sneered and turned her head. “You know where to find it,” she said, her words dripping venom. “I’m not your servant, Hastur.”_

_“I’ll kill him,” Ligur said, and the statement carried the weight of a vow._

_Hastur pushed him hard, his face a mask. “Not here.”_

_“But-”_

_“Not. Here.” Hastur snapped his fingers and a file appeared in his hand._

_Then he and Ligur were gone._

“Here.”

Files stacked taller than Dagon landed on her desk, breaking her reverie. She stared at it, and then peered around it to glare at the demon unfortunate enough to be tasked with delivering it. Leraje’s green eyes met hers in an uncaring glance. Dagon looked at the file closest to her face and narrowed her eyes. It was dated in the early 1300s.

“What do you want me to do with this?” Dagon snapped, pushing at the topmost file. It fell onto her desk, opening, revealing an image of a human’s guts. They were arranged next to the human, and Dagon snorted.

“I want you to do your job, fish,” Leraje said with a snarl. “And I want you to ask me smarter questions.”

Dagon lowered her hands to her desk and stared at him. His anger radiated off of him like waves of heat, and she nodded once. With a flick of her wrist, the stack of files sat beside her desk. Leraje’s posture eased and he produced another file. This one he held out in front of him until Dagon took it.

“Duke Eligos wants you to deliver that to our Lord.” Leraje waved his hand and collapsed onto the couch. “What did you do to piss him off?”

“Existed, apparently,” Dagon said, looking at the file. It was a list of demon’s names, and she snapped it closed. “I heard you guided the angel back to him.”

Leraje scowled. “So what?”

Dagon thought about ripping his throat out. “Nothing,” she said instead, and stood. “Lock the door when you’re done lounging about.”

His hand shot out and grabbed her wrist. Dagon stopped and looked down at it, and then into his eyes. Leraje glared at her, green eyes glinting as he studied her. He released her and grinned.

“You were close with Michael, yeah?”

Dagon hissed.

“I’m going to take that as a yes.” Leraje leaned forward. “Was she strong?”

“Stronger than you or me,” Dagon said, turning her head away. “But not as strong as she’d like us to think she was.”

“That’s what I thought.” Leraje sighed and slumped back into the couch. “Pretty, though.”

Dagon left him there and headed towards Lucifer’s room, fuming. Her fist slammed against his door before she could stop herself and she froze. Instead of being turned into sludge, the door opened a crack. Dagon pushed it open and froze.

Michael’s legs wrapped around Lucifer’s hips, her hands buried in his hair, dragging down his back, clinging to his shoulders. They were kissing, almost desperate. Their bodies were molded together, Lucifer rolling his hips into Michael’s.

Dagon dropped the file. Her blood felt like ice in her veins as Michael threw her head back and moaned. The stench of lust and sex hung over the room like a miasma, and Dagon stepped out of the doorway. Her foot brushed the file, and Michael looked over at her. Their eyes met and there was no recognition in Michael’s. Then Lucifer kissed the corner of her mouth, and Michael turned back to him, cupping his cheeks and kissing him.

It was wrong. It couldn’t be. Dagon reeled back again, and looked around, waiting for the real Michael to appear and smite both of them. None ever appeared, and when Dagon looked back at the nightmare before her, Lucifer was looking at her. He watched her until a look of satisfaction and triumph settled onto his face.

Dagon could hear his thoughts as he directed them toward her, could feel the smugness saturating each word until it dripped from them.

_She’s mine._

A lash of power left him, almost visible, and slammed Dagon against the wall. The door swung shut, shaking the walls as it did, and the snick of the lock echoed throughout the hall.

* * *

Ligur stirred as he watched Crowley exit the old, run down shop. Despite the furtive way he looked around, Crowley looked almost at ease in a body. The bastard even tipped his head in greeting to a passing human, and grimaced a second later. A cloth bag swung from his hand, somehow holding more than any other bag could. Ligur muttered a curse under his breath, and watched it begin to fray.

Crowley frowned, and glared down at the bag, setting it back to rights before continuing on his way. He swaggered, swinging his hips back and forth as he walked, and Ligur rolled his eyes.

“He really has gone native,” Hastur said, scoffing under his breath.

He went to light a cigarette and Ligur clamped his hand over it, eyes locked on Crowley. The hellhound in between them huffed once, baring its fangs, as thick and long as a finger. Ligur tightened his hold on the leash and glared at it. It settled, growling deep in its throat.

“Native or not,” Ligur said, “we need him.”

Hastur dropped the cigarette and crushed it under his foot. “What are you going to ask our Lord for?” he asked.

They began to move, creeping through the trees, making sure they were hidden from sight. Crowley had a singular path and seemed to be following it without any hesitation. If there was any sign that he knew he was being followed, Ligur couldn’t see it.

“It’s not like he’d actually give it to me,” Ligur said, and stopped. “Why?” he said, unable to keep the suspicion out of his voice.

“You’ve been more reckless, this last month,” Hastur said, holding out his arm and stopping Ligur. He continued, dropping his arm, as Crowley began to walk again. “I’m worried about you. You’re letting your… emotions cloud your judgment.”

Ligur snorted. “We’re demons,” he said, moving forward, his feet crushing dead leaves underneath them. “We don’t have emotions.”

Crowley stopped again and looked behind him, towards Ligur and Hastur. Sunglasses hid his amber, snake like eyes from view, but Ligur read anxiety in the set of Crowley’s shoulders, and the way Crowley was looking around.

“You know that’s a load of crock,” Hastur said. “You _love_ her.”

The accusation in his voice was thick with jealousy. Ligur looked away from Crowley for a split second, glancing at Hastur. There was an undeniable fog of envy surrounding the other demon, and Ligur swallowed. Love was a concept he never allowed himself to consider before. It was denied to him, when he fell through the sky and broke through the Earth to the sulfur below. God tore it from the core of his soul, and what replaced it was a thick cloud of anger and self-loathing. Like most demons, Ligur forgot what it was like to know love, and to be loved in return.

Sure, there were times, in the past, where he and Hastur skirted around the topic, he thought. The time Hastur saved him from being dismembered by a horde of angels came to mind. The long centuries on Mu together, ruling over a group of impressionable humans who worshipped them. Those moments came close to healing the ragged wound where Ligur’s heart should have been.

“Even if I did,” Ligur said, pushing back his emotions, “it’s not like she feels the same way. You saw how she reacted when she saw me. If she lov-” he stopped himself and cleared his throat. “If she felt anything, she wouldn’t have run.”

“And if you didn’t feel anything for her, it wouldn’t hurt you so much that she did,” Hastur snapped. “Damnit, Ligur, I told you at the beginning. I told you it was dangerous.”

It was dangerous. From the moment Ligur had locked swords with Michael, he was swept up in a game with their lives on the line. Every stolen glance, every halting word, every moment that cradled a delicate silence that neither one of them dared to break, it was all part of something bigger. Some big, cosmic plan that Ligur hadn’t wanted to follow, spent centuries trying to fight. He knew she did too, and yet something always brought them back to the same place, until they stopped fighting it.

“It would have been easier, if I never met her,” Ligur said. He took Hastur’s hand and squeezed it. “Or if we stayed on Mu, letting the humans serve us their sacrifices, watching it all with the power of gods. If we never went to Hell, or swore fealty to him. Maybe I could tell you how I feel.”

Hastur, for a brief moment, looked vulnerable. Ligur kept talking, released his hand, and looked back towards Crowley.

“Yes,” he said, reluctantly. “I do love her. But I love you, too. Don’t make me choose. Please.”

The hellhound whined. It strained at the leash. Its paws dug furrows into the ground, lacerations that left wilting seedlings scattered among the dark, diseased dirt. Hastur took the lead from Ligur and stepped out of the treeline. His shoes on the cobblestone attracted Crowley’s attention. The bag dropped to Crowley’s feet as he began to back away.

“Hastur, listen,” Crowley said, and then looked over as Ligur emerged from his hiding spot as well. “Ligur, please, you don’t understand-”

“We understand perfectly,” Hastur said, his glare focused on Crowley alone. “You betrayed our Lord, and you ran from your crimes. We’re here to bring you back.”

Crowley seemed to shrink. “I’m not going back,” he said, wrapping his arms around himself. “Not - not to him. You can’t make me.”

A memory of Michael, cowed, kneeling on the floor flit by Ligur’s mind’s eye, and he stepped forward. He passed by Hastur, bumping their shoulders as he did, and grabbed Crowley’s lapel. Crowley sagged forward, his sunglasses askew, and Ligur could see the pure terror glazing his eyes.

“You know,” he said, shock being quickly replaced by outrage. “You know what he’s doing to her.”

Crowley glanced between him and Hastur before nodding once. “Yes,” he whispered.

Ligur considered ripping out his still beating essence, and his fingers elongated into talons. A cold, clammy hand encircled his, and Ligur looked back at Hastur. There was something like acceptance, and regret, in Hastur’s eyes, and Ligur exhaled. His claws returned to more human fingers.

“If you want to see her,” Hastur said, “you’re going to need him alive. He’s the only bargaining chip you have.”

Ligur growled and glared down at Crowley. “You’re going to do something useful for once, snake,” he informed his captive. “You’re going to help me save an angel.”

The ground opened beneath them, and swallowed them whole.


	8. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big content warnings for torture and rape in this chapter.
> 
> And, at last, we fall.

_ ”You really never had ice cream?” _

_ Michael looked up from her file, frowning at the dripping cone in front of her. A drop threatened to fall onto the paper she was reading, and she caught it with her finger. Shifting her gaze to Ligur, she popped her finger in her mouth and licked off the ice cream. It was cold, sweet, and creamy on her tongue. She popped her finger out of her mouth with a wet sound and swallowed. _

_ “Now I have,” she said, and turned back to her file. _

_ “You did that on purpose,” Ligur complained, collapsing back onto the dilapidated couch nearby. “You know how much it drives me wild when you do shit like that.” _

_ “I’m well aware,” Michael said, turning the page. “You stink of lust every time.” _

_ “And yet you continue to taunt me,” Ligur said, licking the remains of his ice cream cone. “You’re a tease, most holy Archangel Michael.” _

_ “Thank you, most unholy Duke Ligur,” Michael said, making sure her voice was as cutting as possible. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” _

_ He snorted before throwing the cone over his shoulder.  _

_ It hovered a centimetre from the ground, and levitated towards a figure in the doorway to the abandoned building. Ligur tensed, his nails elongating to claws, and the chameleon on his head turning pitch black. Michael looked up from the file as he stood, his shadow morphing into something large and incomprehensible. _

_ “Oh, settle down, Ligur,” Dagon said, exasperated, as she entered the room and ate the ice cream cone whole. “It’s just me,” she said around a mouthful of sugar wafer. _

_ “What are you doing here?” Ligur said, folding his arms. His shadow reformed to its usual shape, and Michael moved her hand from her sword hilt. _

_ “I was invited,” Dagon said, sitting on the edge of the desk. She reached into her coat and drew out a black manila folder. “You missed part of the file when you were stealing it from my archives.” _

_ “More like you hid it, so you could have an excuse to break in on our date,” Ligur said, rolling his eyes. “There’s a million angels, Dagon. Go find your own.” _

_ “This isn’t a date,” Michael said before a fight could break out, taking the folder. “This is a simple trading of information.” _

_ Her fingers brushed Dagon’s, and Michael turned red. Dagon grinned, and Ligur huffed, falling back onto the couch with an exaggerated sigh. Dagon slid her fingers along the back of Michael’s hand until her palm covered it. Despite Dagon’s cold, sandpaper skin, a warmth spread through Michael. Snarling, Michael tore the file away and placed it under the one she was reading. _

_ “You’re not going to change this later, are you?” Michael asked, shoving down the emotions pulled free by Dagon’s simple gesture. “When I report this to Gabriel, and we make plans based on it, I expect that they won’t fall flat because one of you leveraged it for a promotion with your boss.” _

_ “Who, me?” Ligur asked, his eyes wide. “Lucifer wouldn’t give me a promotion. I think he suspects that I visit you. He’s jealous of our love.” _

_ Dagon snorted. “I have no idea why. He should be jealous of me.” _

_ Michael scowled. “He should be jealous of neither of you, since nothing is happening between us!” _

_ She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth. Dagon’s eyes, filled with mischief, deadened. Ligur was silent, staring at the ceiling, his chameleon and eyes turning red. Michael swallowed and looked back down to the file, tracing her fingers along the words. They blurred together as she read, and she pushed the papers aside in frustration and rubbed her temples. _

_ “That’s not the truth,” she said at last, the guilt burning a hole in her chest. “But even if something was happening-” _

_ “If?” Ligur pressed, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. _

_ “Fine,” Michael said, sniffing. “Something is happening between us, and between Dagon and I.” She toyed with the hilt of her sword, sliding her fingers along the white-gold plated steel. “Whatever it is, can it wait until after the war?” _

_ Dagon and Ligur eyed each other. The green lightning of envy sparked between them. Dagon looked away first, and Ligur grinned, the victor of their silent conflict. Michael tapped her finger on the desk and lifted her eyebrows. _

_ “Fine,” Ligur said, and threw his hands in the air. “Hastur would kill me if I fucked you, anyway.” _

_ “Crude as ever,” Dagon said, shifting away from Michael. “I believe angels like to call it making love.” _

_ “We call it having sex,” Michael said, pulling the file close to her again. “And most angels do it constantly.” _

_ She ignored their gaping, and turned back to the file with a smug smile on her face. A small part of her turned over Ligur’s words, worrying them apart. _

”He’s jealous of our love.”

* * *

After he was done with her on that long, cold night, Lucifer dragged her back to the room with the small hole in the floor. No amount of Michael’s begging or pleading swayed him. He waved his hand, and the stone groaned as it moved out of the way, exposing a rectangle of darkness. Michael clung to his leg, shaking, golden-green bruising on her skin and cuts oozing blood.

“Don’t,” she whispered, pressing her forehead into his thigh. “I’ll be good. I’ll be good, I promise. Please.”

Lucifer said nothing, grabbing her by her hair and forcing her towards her prison. Michael kicked, screaming, as her wings folded flat against her back, and the metal began to sear her. His face was an expressionless mask as he stepped back, the stone that would seal her in the darkness hovering over her head. Unthinking, Michael reached out and grabbed the tip of his shoe.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and inhaled. “Please. I’ll never try to escape again. I swear.”

He smiled and crouched down. Michael exhaled and reached out, her fingertips grazing the side of his cheek.

Lucifer smacked her hand away. “I know,” he said. “You won’t be able to.”

The stone covering slammed over her head, plunging her into darkness. The screaming of lost souls began, and Michael joined them.

* * *

The first time he pulled her out, she clung to him, weeping, as he stroked her back and murmured poison into her ear.

“Poor little lion, captured and caged,” he said, his hands drifting lower and grasping her ass. Michael inhaled sharply as he squeezed, digging his nails into her. “So alone. Would you like my company?”

Michael hid her face in his chest and nodded. His lips pressed against the crown of her head first, chasing away the pain there. As he kissed down her face, the burns vanished. Michael wept with the relief, clinging to him as he sucked marks onto her neck before capturing her lips with his. She parted them and their tongues entwined.

Lucifer pulled away and turned her around. He pressed her against the ground, grinding her cheek into it. Her head was turned in the direction of her prison and she closed her eyes. Her whole body trembled as he lifted her hips into the air. There was a rustle of fabric behind her, and a soft sigh as his pants met the ground. Fingers tangled into her hair and pressed down until she opened her eyes.

“Pay attention,” Lucifer scolded. “This is part of your punishment.” He paused, and slid a finger in between her legs. “Although,” he said, his voice sly, “no one would believe it from how wet you are, princess.”

Michael shivered, shame and desire warring in her as Lucifer slid into her with a moan. He snapped his hips against her and she cried out, her fingernails breaking against the stone as she scrabbled for purchase. He thrust again and she whined, a heady rush of pleasure burning through her.

There was another scream from her prison, and Michael flinched, her hips dropping as she tried to get away. Lucifer raked his claws down her back and she froze. Tears fell down her face, hot and holy, sizzling against the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she said, over and over, as he fucked her. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

Something hard and plastic forced her mouth open, straps lashing around the back of her head. Lucifer grunted, and pushed deep into her, filling her with his spend. He pulled out and his cum dripped from her to the floor. Michael started to shiver, drawing herself into a ball.

“Get back into position,” Lucifer snapped, kicking her in the ribs. One cracked with the force of the blow, and he kicked her again when she sobbed with the pain. “I’m not done with you, you miserable slut.”

It hurt to breathe, and Michael stared up at him in mute appeal. 

“Get up,” Lucifer said, his voice low, “or I’ll make you. Trust me, my dove, you won’t like that.”

She scrambled to her knees and lowered her forehead to the ground. He jerked her hips up, and stroked her back. The scratches there healed, and her ribs knit back together. She babbled her thanks around the gag in her mouth. Lucifer chuckled before pushing his cock into her again. The screams of Hell’s victims mixed with the sound of their flesh meeting, and Michael started to feel part of herself unravel.

“I think you’ll like this, General,” Eligos said, in his horrible, clacking voice. 

Lucifer came again. His hips stuttered and his claws dug into her hips. She whined and rocked forward, pleasure a burning coil in her stomach. Lucifer ignored her and continued thrusting into her sore, filled, and overstimulated cunt. 

“We have a very special prisoner. Another angel.”

* * *

The second time Michael was pulled from her prison, her eyes were glazed over, unresponsive. Lucifer clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and stroked her cheek. Michael turned into it, unthinking, seeking the small affection behind the gesture. Her eyes began to clear as she focused on him.

“Nice to see you’re back with us, darling,” Lucifer said, moving his hands down her front. They ghosted over her collarbones and rested on her breasts. “You’re so beautiful,” he said, his voice fierce and filled with lust. “So utterly beautiful, like a priceless piece of art. If only I could keep you like this forever, just on the edge of madness.”

He squeezed her breasts and kissed her. On instinct, Michael’s lips parted and she spread her legs. He shifted until he was seated between them, her legs wrapped around his hips. Warmth filled Michael and she tilted her head back, letting him kiss down her neck and bite at her collarbones. The burns from the hole disappeared, leaving her skin unbroken. Lucifer dragged his nails down her side as he sucked bruises in a straight line down her middle. 

The unnamed angel’s screams redoubled as Lucifer licked along her slit, and Michael tangled her hands in his hair and pulled him closer. His tongue worked past her folds and into her cunt, tracing vague patterns onto her. Pleasure sang through Michael, and she came with a scream, her voice mixing with her brethren’s.

Lucifer laughed, and kept making her come on his tongue. Before long, all Michael saw was stars, and all she heard was the screams of the other angel.

* * *

The third and last time he opened up the hatch, Michael curled into a tighter ball and waited. There was a long pause before Lucifer cleared his throat.

“You can come out, princess,” he said, holding out his hand. “I have a special treat for you this time.”

Michael hesitated before taking his hand. Once free of the prison, she dropped to her knees and placed her hands on her thighs. Her head was bowed, her wings flat against her back, her eyes on his shoes. They shone in the light, and she could see herself in the leather. She almost couldn’t recognise herself. Burns from the demonic metal marred her skin in patches, and her hair fell around her, limp and oily. Her teeth were chattering, and she tried to hold them together.

“Stand up,” Lucifer said, nudging her with the tip of his shoe. “And put this on.”

Clothing appeared in a heap in front of Michael. She reached out, stroking the fine fabric, pulling it close to her. The dress slipped over her head and fell down her legs, all the way to her ankles. It had slits up the side to the top of her thighs, and the top showed her sternum and the curves of her breasts, but it was more coverage than Michael had since she arrived, and she clung to it.

She pulled on the stockings and the thigh high boots and stood, looking down at herself. Lucifer placed his hand on her cheek, and his power surged through her, repairing all of the physical damage from her prison. She shuddered as the pain ceased, and nuzzled his hand.

“Thank you, master,” she said, looking at him through her lashes.

He tsk-ed and ran his hands through her hair. “If only I had time to bathe you,” he said, and shook his head. “This will have to do until then.”

Another surge of power ran through her, and her hair was shining and clean. Lucifer played with the end of one of her curls before letting it fall to frame her face. He came away with a white flower in his hand, the centre of it purple. Michael took it and stared into its centre. If she focused hard enough, she could almost see the universe in it. 

His hand closed around hers and guided the flower to rest behind her ear.

“Ready?”

He tugged at her collar, and ribbon formed out of nothing. Attached to it was a silver chain, blue lace and white ribbon braided into its links. Michael’s mouth was dry as he moved away until it was taut, and tugged. She shuffled forward until she was next to him again. 

He was shining, she realised, and reached out to grip his hand. 

Had she never noticed how much he shone?

“We’re going for a walk, sweetheart,” he said, turning away from her. “I have something to show you, and a present for you, if you’re good.”

“I will be,” Michael said, and squeezed his hand. “I promise, master. I’ll be good.”

He pulled his hand away. Michael’s heart sank, until he looked back at her with a warm smile. It made him shine all the more.

As a moth flies towards a flame, Michael followed him into Hell.

The landscape around them faded from a decrepit, slime encrusted basement to a lava filled cavern. Stalactites dripped black, diseased water down onto the lava below, creating columns of steam that wailed. The heat was stifling. Lucifer seemed unaffected, but it felt like she was burning.

After an interminable period of walking, Lucifer came to a sudden stop. He looked back at her, a strange light in his eyes. He was at ease, his shoulders broad and his back straight. Michael leaned into him, pressing her forehead against the back of his neck, shivering despite the oppressive heat.

“We’re here,” he said. “In the deepest circle of Hell, where I crawled out of after you tore me from Her embrace.”

Before him, an endless chasm yawned. Lava bubbled, sometimes shooting up in a geyser. Demons cackled on the few rock formations, dancing among deformed stalagmites. Their faces were molten, changing with every move they made. The insides of their mouths were burning craters, their eyes little more than embers in their salt-white faces. They held spears in their hands, and were driving them over and over into the stalagmites. Each impact made a sound of struck flesh, and Michael felt cold.

She took a closer look and recoiled. What she thought were stalagmites were human souls. The sounds of their screams reached her at last, tearing at her insides. Michael shied away from the edge of the cliff and tears filled her eyes. She hugged herself, nails digging into her arm until they broke skin in crescent shaped wounds.

“What’s wrong, pet?” Lucifer asked, wiping her tears. 

Did he actually care? Michael felt dizzy with the thought, and words tumbled out of her.

“All these people,” she said. “Her creations. They’re hurting. This is what I sentenced them to, when I judged them. I caused this to happen.” She tore her hands away from him and covered her face. “I’m a monster. I thought I was doing what She wanted, but She can’t have wanted this. I failed Her. I failed Her!”

She fell to her knees, uncaring of how the rocky path burned through her, straight to her essence. Her eyes lost all colour except for black, and her wings drooped. “I deserve this,” she said, her voice hollow. “I should be down there, with them, being tortured for my sins.”

“Tell me about them,” Lucifer said, sitting beside her. Dirt smeared along his elegant suit. It was on his hands as he turned to face her and placed them on his knees. “Your sins. Confess them onto me, my child.”

His voice was arch, his words patronising, but they offered clemency. Michael swallowed and played with one of the ribbons. It burned against her hands, a rune on it glowing, and the words poured out of her. 

“Forgive me, master, for I have sinned. It’s been a millennia since I last confessed, and I accuse myself of the following sins.

“I have callously sent many humans to their doom here. I did not care that I did, nor did I care if they suffered. I didn’t think about the torment they would receive. I thought they deserved it.” She hugged herself. “I’m the only one who deserves their pain. It should all be upon me, and I should suffer for eternity to atone.”

“Pride,” Lucifer said, tilting her head up with a finger. His eyes glowed an unearthly red. “Pride motivates you to say these things, my sweet. You are no more worthy of bearing their pain than you are of existing. Bearing their pain would be noble, and I think we both know you’re the furthest thing from noble.”

“I-” Michael said, and Lucifer put his finger on her lips.

“It’s not a bad thing, to be ignoble,” he whispered. His face was close to hers, his breath warm on her skin. “You’re cunning, Michael. Smart, brave, beautiful, and ruthless. You see things clearly, as do I. If something stands in your way, you strike it down. There’s nothing wrong with that.” He cleared his throat and pulled back.

Michael followed him, unaware that she was pressing into him. 

“Master,” she said. “I’m afraid to confess something.” 

Tears poured down her cheeks. Lucifer brushed them away with tenderness, and Michael opened her heart. 

“I’ve loved before you,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve loved others.”

“Do you still?”

Michael thought. The last time she saw them, Ligur and Dagon were so angry. They would hate her, hate what she became. What could have been was destroyed, and salvation was before her. Michael took it.

“No.”

Lucifer kissed her. Michael wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed against his chest. It was effortless to slide into his lap, to nuzzle at his jaw, and push all thoughts of a sharp smile or a flash of scales away.

“I forgive you, love,” he said, and stroked her cheek. “Pray, and you will be absolved.”

She hesitated, playing with the ring around her collar. Lucifer started to rise. Disappointment and regret were in his eyes. Panic filled her. She couldn’t lose him. Everyone she loved was already lost to her. Lucifer was all she had.

A dull sigil on her ribbons, the last in a long line, began to glow.

“Ave Satana,” she said. The words blistered her lips. “Ave Satana. Ave Satana.”


	9. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warnings for this chapter:
> 
> Torture, murder, blood, minor OC character death.

Leraje flicked through his book, the words blurring together on the page. He sighed and dropped it, leaning back. His thoughts were devoured by Michael. The idea of owning an angel, really owning one, was tantalising. And such a powerful angel would be a great asset. With her by his side, he could finally take out his enemies and maybe even become Satan himself. Leraje grinned and folded his arms over his chest.

Of course, he would spend a little time breaking her in, he thought. Not too long. Just a century or two.

“Marquis Leraje,” a voice said, drifting through a speaker. “Your presence is required.”

Leraje looked up at the speaker and lifted his eyebrows. “Duke Eligos,” he said, “are you back in the lower circles of Hell?”

“I go where I am told, as should you, Marquis,” Eligos said, and Leraje fumed. 

The old, wretched bastard couldn’t make any expressions to save his godlessness, but Leraje resented the curt, dismissive tone all the same. Eligos would be among the first to go, he thought, sneering. He’d give a lot to see Michael cut Eligos’ head off, sending it rolling into the magma. Maybe he’d even let some of the damned souls at Eligos. It would serve the abomination right.

“May it please my Duke and my Lord,” Leraje said, thrumming his fingers on the desk. “Where am I being told to go?”

“Torture room A,” Eligos said, clacking. 

  
Leraje shuddered, realising that Eligos was laughing.

“Once you get there, you will be bound with chains, and you are to appear as an angel,” Eligos continued. “A blinded angel, cut and disfigured, with his essence leaking out into the air. Can you handle that?”

“Yes, my Duke,” Leraje said through clenched teeth. “Consider it done.”

“Good.” 

The speaker went silent, and Leraje breathed out a sigh of relief. He picked up his book and placed it on his desk. It was just a bit of psychological torture, he told himself. Maybe he’d try and play it up, really drive Michael to the brink, see how much she could take. It could be just enough to push her from Lucifer’s grasp.

“Oh, and Marquis,” Eligos said, shattering Leraje’s musings.

“Yes?” Leraje snapped, glaring at the speaker.

Eligos clacked in laughter again. The sound sent a chill down Lerjae’s spine. 

“Prepare for the role of a lifetime.”

* * *

The false prayer fell from her lips. Smoke curled from her mouth, escaping through the hand she pressed over it. The smoke curled towards Lucifer, disturbed only by his breath. There, in his lap, uttering sacrilegious - blasphemous - words, she felt safe. He shone like the sun. Like the stars. Like the warm glow of Her love.

“Come with me,” he said, standing and reaching his hand out to her. “We have one more thing to do before we can go back to our room, princess.” 

She sat on the rock, staring up at him. The orange-red glow of the lava crowned him. A geyser erupted behind them, spewing molten lava into the air with a roar. She reached out and hesitated, her fingers a breath from his. 

“Why do you hesitate?” he asked. “What else do you have but me?”

“I am Her servant,” Michael said. “I am Her sword,” she continued, casting her gaze down. “I am-”

“She abandoned you,” Lucifer interrupted. “She stopped caring about you, so She gave you to me. You’re my servant. You’re my sword. You’re <i>mine</i>. Accept that, and you won’t ever have to fear the prison again.”

She stopped breathing. 

“Never?” she asked, her voice wavering. “I’ll never have to be in there again?”

“I promise,” Lucifer said. “If you please me, my dove, you won’t have to fear being apart from me ever again.”

Their hands fit together. Somewhere, a soul screamed. 

He pulled her to her feet and against him, his other hand on the small of her back. The world was a dream as he guided her away from the caverns. She looked over her shoulder one last time at the warped souls in the centre of the lava. A geyser erupted, blocking them from sight, and then the souls were gone. 

“I have a gift for you,” he said, stopping and turning to face her. “I think you’ll like this.”

They were in front of a steel door that was covered with rusted barbed wire. Michael saw flecks of blackened flesh caught on the spikes. All of a sudden, she felt nauseous, and covered her mouth.

“Open,” Lucifer commanded, and the door swung open with a screech. He released her and stood to the side, hidden in the shadows.

All she could see was the red glow of his eyes.

Before her sat an angel, his blonde hair plastered to his neck, deep gashes disfiguring him. He looked up at her through milky white eyes, panting. Thin, delicate chains bound him to the chair, embedded into his skin. Cracks formed around them, revealing his blinding essence. It leaked out of him, golden mist drifting through the air. Michael placed both hands on her stomach and retched.

“General?” the angel said. His voice cracked with misuse. “You’re here to save me.”

Lucifer ran his hand along Michael’s back and placed his lips on her ear. “This is my will,” he whispered. His words curled around her, ensnaring her. “You are my servant. You are my sword.”

He ran one hand down her arm and placed his palm over the back of her hand. A dark word passed his lips and she was holding a sword that was black as night. The hilt of it burned her hand, and she went to drop it. Lucifer closed her hand around it.

“My gift to you, my dove, is to prove yourself to me. This sword was forged for you, using the souls of the damned. Use it now.” His words were a hiss. “Strike him. Strike him in my name, and become mine forever.”

“I’ll fall,” Michael said. “I won’t be an angel anymore, if I do this, if I-”

Lucifer said, “Is your divinity more important than me?”

Michael trembled. The angel stared up at her, his white eyes unseeing.

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, General, help me. I came to save you.” 

She raised her sword and the angel screamed. Time was fluid, racing around her. With each new cut she added to the angel’s skin, a certainty grew within her. This is what she was meant to do. She was Lucifer’s weapon. She was his wrath. She was his.

At last, Lucifer caught her wrist and stopped her. The angel before them slumped in his chair, weeping. The tears were like crystals, shining in the light. Michael caught one on her sword and watched it roll down the blade before touching her fingers. She looked back at him, her eyes cold, and he looked up at her.

“Please,” he said, his voice ragged with pain. “Please, no more. General, no more.”

Lucifer pressed against her back and nuzzled her jaw. “Kill him,” he whispered. “Kill him, princess, for the joy of feeling it.” His hands rested on her hips. “Kill for me.”

“Wait,” the angel said, his eyes clearing, revealing that they were green as moss. “That wasn’t-”

Michael plunged the sword in the centre of the angel’s chest, driving it through skin, muscle, organs, all the way to the core of him. He screamed, his back arching as black ran through his veins, corrupting him. The white feathers turned black, and crumbled before her. A rush of power and joy ran through her and she twisted the sword before pulling it out in one smooth motion. She stabbed again, and again, until her forearms were drenched in his blood. Only then did she stop and step back, panting, glaring down at the body.

Leraje sat before her, a lifeless shell, his essence extinguished. Michael lowered her sword, black blood dripping off the edge. She exulted in the feeling of blood on her arms, the rush from claiming a life. She was Lucifer’s fury, she was his retribution, incandescent and untouchable. 

She was an Archangel of God, and this was Her will, so Michael obeyed and lent her power to her master.

Lucifer’s fury rose like the tide, crashing over her, washing away her triumph and leaving her cold. His hand bruised her wrist, forcing her hand open with the force of his grip. The sword clattered to the ground, spraying black blood on her face. He whirled her around and grabbed her by the throat.

“Master, please,” she started, and he tightened his grip, stopping her from breathing.

“Why didn’t you fall?” he snarled. “What are you hiding from me? What shred of divinity are you clinging to?”

Michael shook her head, eyes wide, her hands on his wrist. “Nothing,” she said, her voice thin and stretched. “I swear, master, I’m not hiding anything from you. I’m yours, I promise, I’ll do anything you ask, please, don’t be angry with me.”

“Oh, but you are keeping something from me, sweetheart,” he said. “You should have fallen. You prayed to me. You killed without hesitation. You enjoyed it.” 

He looked over at the body. Michael followed his gaze, and watched as Leraje’s body disappeared. The chains fell to the ground, clattering as they coiled into a heap. Lucifer released her and she fell to the ground, clutching her throat. 

Lucifer was silent, staring down at the chains. When he looked over to her, his eyes were cold. No trace of his former warmth could be seen, and Michael began to tremble. Thoughts of a long, dark imprisonment filled her mind, and she shook her head, crawling to his feet.

“Please,” she said, shifting into her second pose, her hands on her thighs, her head bowed. “Tell me what to do. I’ll do it, I promise. I’ll do anything.”

He tilted her head up, and she met his gaze again. A shiver ran through her at the wrath etched into every line of his face. He bent down, their faces a breath apart. His voice was low, hypnotic, and inescapable.

“You’re going to fall.”

* * *

Aziraphale paced.

Inwardly, he was panicking. Crowley had been gone for too long. It was almost certain that he was captured by Hell, possibly even being tortured, or worse. Aziraphale threw a glance at the clock and confirmed that only five minutes had passed since the last time he looked.

Of course, in Hell, those five minutes could mean the difference between life and death. Aziraphale contemplated the idea of marching into Hell and demanding Crowley back, like Orpheus rescuing Eurydice. With more success, hopefully. The war was technically over now. Killing an angel would just break the treaty. Then again, it wasn’t as if Aziraphale was the most popular angel, and he imagined his loss wouldn’t be missed by Heaven. By the same token, though, most of the Archangels were in a coma, and Heaven needed every angel it could get. Heaven might be itching to break the treaty, and take any excuse it could get. Which, Aziraphale thought, Hell might actually want.

He sighed and wrung his hands. Either way, his going into Hell would be a mistake. But it was one he had to make, because to leave Crowley behind would be a bigger mistake.

Just as Aziraphale made up his mind to ignore the consequences and march straight into Hell, there was a knock at his door. Aziraphale slumped with relief. Crowley was back. He hurried over to the door, a smile on his face, and opened it.

"Crowley, my dear boy, I'm-" he started and stopped. Before him stood a woman - not a woman, Aziraphale corrected himself. A demon. She had scales down the side of her face, and sharp, serrated teeth. A small fish poked its head out of her sleeve and looked at Aziraphale. Aziraphale stared back at it. It chattered its teeth before hiding.

“Can I help you?” Aziraphale asked, his voice high and strained. “My good woman. Er. Being.”

"Dagon," she said, rolling her eyes. “Underduke of Torments, and Lord of the Files. And you’re Aziraphale, right? The angel that Crowley ran off with?”

Aziraphale stared at her. "Yes," he said, deciding to accept this new reality. "The Principality Aziraphale.” He lifted both eyebrows. “Can I help you?”

"You can, by blessing this," Dagon said. She took out a knife, and held it flat in the palm of her hand.

Aziraphale took a step back. “How did you know where to find me? Where is Crowley?" he asked, desperation making his words rushed. "It's he okay? Why isn't he here?"

"He's in Hell," Daon said, and had the good grace to look guilty. "He's going to be executed for betraying Lucifer. But if you bless this, I can go back and get him out sooner." She offered Aziraphale the knife and he took it.

He expected it to singe his hand and was surprised to see Enochian symbols instead. "Attack or be attacked, there is no middle course," Aziraphale read. 

His heart clenched with remembered humiliation, a sword pointed at his throat, mocking laughter ringing around him as Michael walked away. She uttered those words in the doorway of the sparring hall, looking over her shoulder at him. Then she called him a disappointment.

“Is that what it says?" Dagon asked. “Bloody Michael. Typical.”

There was a fondness in her tone that was unmistakable. Aziraphale’s heart clenched from the strength of it, thinking of Crowley.

He turned the knife over and over in his hands. "You better come in," he said, stepping aside. "And tell me everything."

Dagon nodded and stepped inside the cottage. “It’s a nice place,” she said, looking around. “A bit conspicuous, though. I can see how even idiots like Hastur and Ligur caught you.”

Aziraphale felt his patience bend a little more. "Tea?" he asked, a tinge of desperation in his voice. "Coffee?"

“Tea,” Dagon said. “Thanks.” She cleared her throat, standing in the dead centre of the room. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “Crowley’s a jerk, but he doesn’t deserve to die. Not after what he’s been through.”

Aziraphale's lips twisted. "Nice of you to care," he said archly. "Now that someone you care about is suffering the same fate, what Crowley went through gets acknowledged? You can admit that your boss is a monster?”

There was a tense silence. Aziraphale miracled two mugs in front of him and set his ancient tea kettle on the stove. He got to the point of the tea making process of putting the tea bags and sugar in the mugs while the water boiled. Then Dagon spoke.

"You’re right. It shouldn’t have happened to him.”

Aziraphale turned and faced her, his knuckles white around the marble counter. “Why did you all let it happen?” he asked. “Countless demons tortured before your very eyes, and not a single one of you did anything.”

“He’s our God,” Dagon said, shaking her head. “What would you do if God tortured angels?”

“She wouldn’t,” Aziraphale said.

“But what would you do?” Dagon pressed. “Nothing, right?”

Aziraphale looked down at his shoes. Dagon snorted and nodded once. Behind him, the tea kettle began to shriek, steam billowing from its spout.

“It is because I have something to lose now. I won’t deny that. But that works to your favour, doesn’t it?” she asked. “It means I’m willing to make a deal. And I’m in a much better position to do something about Crowley’s situation than you are.”

“The situation that you let Satan put him in,” Aziraphale said, fighting to keep his voice controlled. “Because you were following orders. The only reason you’re not celebrating your victory is because Satan’s taken something of yours.”

Dagon’s lips twisted. She almost looked impressed. Another day, Aziraphale would take comfort in that. Now, all he could think of was Crowley, alone in Hell, at the mercy of Satan. Aziraphale’s imagination rebelled against the possibility of what was happening.

“I can’t defend my actions,” she said. “I made the wrong choice. I want to make the right one this time.”

Aziraphale turned her words over in his mind. At last, he nodded, and bent his head over the blade. As he prayed, a white glow left his hand and wrapped around the knife. It sank into it, disappearing with an almost audible snap. He opened his eyes and Dagon flinched from their bright, holy glow.

"Angels," Dagon said, disparagingly.

Aziraphale placed the knife on the table and snapped his fingers. It was wrapped in thick fabric. Dagon took it by the very tip of the hilt and pushed it up her sleeve. There was a tense silence. Dagon shifted and opened her mouth.

"You should go," Aziraphale said before she could speak. He stood and hesitated. "Can you pass on a message to Crowley for me? And Michael?"

"What is it?" Dagon asked warily.

"Tell Crowley that I'm not giving up on him," Aziraphale said. "I'll bless the pipes in Hell if I have to."

"Noted," Dagon muttered, eyeing him with unease. "Anything else?"

Aziraphale squared his shoulders. He thought about the Archangels, how dismissive they were. Cold and cutting throughout the centuries, caring only for each other and Heaven's mission. He then thought about Michael, alone, trapped in Hell, and his hurt shifted. He wasn't foolish enough to forgive her or trust her, but no one deserved what she and Crowley suffered through.

"Tell her that no one in Heaven has given up on getting her out," Aziraphale said. “I’m going to go to the other Archangels. They have to know about this."

Dagon nodded. “Thank you. In exchange, I’ll make sure that Crowley gets out. We’ll protect him.”

"When will you get him out?" Aziraphale asked.

"Give me a week," Dagon said. She took her tea and sipped it. “If Crowley isn’t back by then, you can come and kill us all. He’ll be dead.”

Aziraphale shuddered. “Yes, all right,” he said. “A week. You’ll come to this very spot in a week.” 

“That’s it,” Dagon said. She snapped her fingers. A thin file appeared on the table, resting next to the knife. "Almost forgot," she said. "This might be of interest to Ariel."

Aziraphale reached out, frowning. He was about to flip it open when Dagon cleared her throat in warning.

"Just wait until I’m gone," she said. "So I can deny it, if it ever comes up." She pulled her lips back in what, Aziraphale supposed, to her, looked like a smile. It was, well, demonic. “Plausible deniability. You understand.”

"Right." Aziraphale stood. He wrung his hands and stared at her. "Get him out," he said. There were tears in his eyes that he refused to shed. His heart ached, and he thought of Crowley sitting alone somewhere, trapped, without any protection or hope of escape.

Aziraphale hated how helpless he was to do anything to rescue the demon he loved more than anything.

She grunted in answer, and finished her tea. “Thank you, Aziraphale,” she said, looking away from him. “This is treasonous of me, but I really hope we can pull it off. I’d give anything for her to call me a bitch and try to kill me.” 

Sympathy welled up and spilled out of him. He took Dagon’s hand and patted it. “I’m sure she will,” he said. “I know how you feel. I’d do anything for Crowley.” He hesitated and threw caution to the wind. “I love him,” he said. “And I never got to tell him that.”

Dagon rolled her eyes. “Bloody sentimentality,” she said, her words steeped in derision. Then she cleared her throat and ducked her head. “I love her,” she mumbled. Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened her back. “I love her,” she said, clearer, glaring at Aziraphale.

It was a challenge. Aziraphale smiled thinly.

“Then we both know what it’s like to have our heart defy our god,” he said.

Dagon’s eyes went wide. For a moment, she looked lost. Then she cleared her throat and snatched her hand away. “Bloody angels,” she muttered. Without another word, she walked through the door, slamming it shut behind her.

Aziraphale sat down and opened the file. His eyes widened and he started flipping through the pages. He read, his finger following each sentence. He mouthed each word, a growing sense of trepidation rising in him with each passage he read. When he reached the end of the file, he stared off into space. It was all making sense now, why it was Michael in Hell, why the war ended at all.

"What do I do?" he whispered, and put his head in his hands.

* * *

"You know," Crowley said, "he's not going to give you what you want."

They were walking through the halls of Hell, something Crowley had hoped he had given up when he ran away with Aziraphale. It seemed as though Hell had other plans. 

"Shut up," Ligur snapped. "Do you ever stop talking?"

"No," Crowley said. "He wants you guys to make the wrong move. He wants to eliminate you."

"And what makes you say that?" Hastur asked, pulling Crowley forward. 

Crowley made a show of rattling the chains around his ankles and wrists. This did not appear to move Hastur, who only scowled and rapped out, "Keep moving."

"Well - Hastur, I can walk, stop dragging me - you said it yourself. You’re trying to save Michael," Crowley said. “Using you two idiots against her is a classic Lucifer tactic. He’ll probably try and break her with your death, Ligur.”

Hastur stopped and Crowley barreled into him. His nose ached. Ligur and Hastur stared at him, then at each other. All three of them were frozen in the hallway. 

“And you can do something about it, can you?" Ligur asked. "Enough stalling, Crowley. Or at least try harder."

"You don't understand," Crowley said, desperation making his voice higher. “He’s capable of anything, and he’ll do anything to get what he wants.”

"Keep moving," Hastur snapped. He grabbed Crowley by the elbow. Crowley shook him off and took a step back.

"Guys, you <i>really</i> don't understand," Crowley said. "This isn't just standard demonic torture. She's not a lost human soul."

"We know that,” Ligur said. “But what else do you want us to do?” His voice was raw with emotion and he stopped. He looked down at his hands, clenching and releasing them. “It’s not like we have much choice,” he continued, his voice more controlled. “We just want to… to make sure she’s okay.”

"She isn’t,” Crowley said. “Trust me.”

“Why should we do that?” Hastur said. He folded his arms and glared at Crowley. “Give me one reason why we should trust anything you have to say, snake.”

Crowley inhaled sharply. He eyed them before letting his shoulders slump. It was the only way he could get to Aziraphale, he told himself. Somehow, his continued livelihood depended on convincing the two demons that would be happiest to kill him to let him go. And, though he would deny it if anyone asked, he felt sorry for Michael. He felt his wings tense with remembered fear and shuddered.

“Because I know what she’s going through,” he said at last. “I’ve been there.”

“And what’s that?” Ligur asked, rolling his eyes. “Caring about someone else other than yourself?”

Like he was one to talk, Crowley thought with a hint of bitterness.

“No. Being raped and controlled,” Crowley said, keeping his voice as level as he could. “Being isolated and kept on my toes for so long that I couldn’t be sure what was coming next, only that I’d be grateful if it wasn’t more pain.” He took a deep breath. “You really think this is the first time he’s done something like this?”

“That doesn’t explain why we should trust you,” Ligur said coldly. “I’m not convinced, and I’m losing patience.” 

Crowley wriggled his fingers, and two tattered, red ribbons appeared in his hands. With a scowl, he turned around. There were twin gasps and Crowley knew the demonic sigils were still glowing, after centuries of dormancy. He knew, without looking, what they said.

And so did they.

There was a tense silence before Ligur spoke. “What do you want?”

“To get out of here,” Crowley said. “Alive. Intact. Unfollowed. All I want is to be left alone, so I can enjoy whatever amount of time I have left before the apocalypse starts.” He turned around and faced them. “Deal?”

Ligur looked at the ribbons again. Crowley could almost see the gears turning in his head. Hastur shrugged.

“It’s your decision, Ligur. What do you want to do?” 

Ligur sighed. Crowley turned his head to look at him. His eyes were a swirling rainbow, his lips pressed into a thin line. Crowley could see the fear and rage deep in Ligur, and something else. An emotion Crowley knew all too well. Suddenly, they didn’t seem so dissimilar. 

After all, they both loved an angel.

“Deal,” Ligur said, holding out his hand.

Crowley shook Ligur’s hand once and then dropped it. He wiped his palm on his jeans and nodded. "All right. Listen up, assholes, because I'm only going to say this once."


End file.
